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WILEY  AND  PUTNAM'S 

LIBRARY  OF 

CHOICE    READING. 


REMINISOENCES  OF  SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 


ROBERT    SOUTHEY. 


REMINISCENCES 


SAMUEL  TAYLOB  COLERIDGE 


AND 


ROBERT    SOU  THEY 


JOSEPH    COTTLE. 


NEW  YORK: 
WILEY  AND  PUTNAM,  161  BROADWAY. 

1848. 


Ma. 


INTRODUCTION. 


It  is  with  a  solemnized  feeling  that  I  enter  on  these 
Reminiscences.  Except  one,  I  have  survived  all  the  asso- 
ciates of  my  earlier  days.  The  young,  with  a  long  life  in 
perspective,  (if  any  life  can  be  called  long,  in  so  brief  an 
existence,)  are  unable  to  realize  the  impressions  of  a  man, 
nearer  eighty  than  seventy,  when  the  shadows  of  evening 
are  gathering  around,  and,  in  a  retrospective  glance,  the 
whole  field  of  past  vision  appears,  in  all  its  complexities, 
like  the  indistinct  tumults  of  a  dream.  The  acute  reasoner — 
the  fiery  poHtician — the  eager  polemic — the  emulous  aspi- 
rant after  fame  ;  and  many  such  have  I  known,  where  are 
they?  and  how  mournful,  if  any  one  of  them  should  be  found, 
at  last,  to  have  directed  his  solicitudes  alone  to  material 
objects  ; — should  have  neglected  to  cultivate  his  own  little 
plot  of  earth,  more  valuable  than  mines !  and  have  sown 
no  seeds  for  eternity.  It  is  not  a  light  motive  which  could 
have  prompted  me,  when  this  world  of  *'  Eye  and  Ear"  is 
fast  receding,  while  grander  scenes  are  opening,  and  so 
near  !  to  call  up  almost  long- forgotten  associations,  and  to 
dwell  on  the  stirring,  by-gone,  occurrences  that  tend,  in 
some  measure,  to  interfere  with  that  calm  which  is  most 


INTRODUCTION. 


desirable,  and  best  accords  with  the  feelings  of  one  who 
holds  Hfe  by  such  slender  ties.  Yet  through  the  goodness 
of  the  Ahiiighty,  behig  at  the  present  moment  exempt  from 
many  of  the  common  infirmities  of  age,  I  am  willing,  as  a 
last  act,  .to  make  some  sacrifice  to  obtain  the  good  which  I 
hope  this  recurrence  to  the  past  is  calculated  to  produce. 

With  respect  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  it  would  be  easy  and 
pleasant  to  sail  with  the  stream  ;  to  admire  his  eloquence  ; 
to  extol  his  genius  ;  and  to  forget  his  failings  ;  but  where 
is  the  utility,  arising  out  of  this  homage  paid  to  naked 
talent  ?  If  the  attention  of  posterity  rested  here,  where 
were  the  lessons  of  wisdom  to  be  learnt  from  his  example  ? 
His  path  through  the  world  was  marked  by  strong  outlines, 
and  instruction  is  to  be  derived  from  every  feature  of  his 
mind,  and  every  portion  of  his  eventful  and  checkered  life. 
In  all  the  aspects  of  his  character,  he  was  probably  the 
most  singular  man  that  has*  appeared  in  this  country  during 
the  preceding  century,  and  the  leading  incidents  of  whose 
life  ought  to  stand  fairly  on  record.  The  facts  which  I 
have  stated  are  undeniable,  the  most  important  being 
substantiated  by  his  own  letters ;  but  higher  objects  were 
intended  by  this  narrative  than  merely  to  elucidate  a  char- 
acter, (however  remarkable,)  in  all  its  vicissitudes  and 
eccentricities.  Rising  above  idle  curiosity,  or  the  desire  of 
furnishing  aliment  for  the  sentimental; — excitement  the 
object,  and  the  moral  tendency  disregarded,  these  pages 
take  a  wider  range,  and  are  designed  for  the  good  of  many, 
where  if  there  be  much  to  pain  the  reader,  he  should 
moderate  his  regrets,  by  looking  through  the  intermediate 
to  the  end. 

There  is  scarcely  an  individual,  whose  life,  if  justly 
delineated,  would  not  present  much  whence  others  might 


INTRODUCTION. 


derive  instruction.  If  this  be  applicable  to  the  multitude, 
how  much  more  essentially  true  is  it,  in  reference  to  the 
ethereal  spirits,  endowed  by  the  Supreme  with  a  lavish 
portion  of  intellectual  strength,  as  well  as  with  proportionate 
capacities  for  doing  good  ?  How  serious  therefore  is  the 
obligation  to  fidelity,  when  the  portraiture  of  a  man  is  to 
be  presented,  like  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  in  whom  such 
diversified  and  contrary  qualities  alternately  predominated  ! 
Yet  all  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  him,  and  similar 
instructors  of  mankind,  must  result  from  a  faithful  exhibi- 
tion of  the  broad  features  of  their  earthly  conduct  and 
character,  so  that  they  might  stand  out  as  landmarks,  and 
Pharos-towers,  to  guide,  or  warn,  or  encourage^  all  suc- 
ceeding voyagers  on  the  Ocean  of  Life. 

In  preparing  the  following  work,  I  should  gladly  have 
withheld  that  one  letter  of  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Mr.  Wade, 
had  not  the  obligation  to  make  it  public  been  imperative. 
But  concealment  would  have  been  injustice  to  the  living, 
and  treachery  to  the  dead.  This  letter  is  the  solemnizing 
voice  of  conscience.  Can  any  reflecting  mind,  deliberately 
desire  the  suppression  of  this  document,  in  which  Mr. 
Coleridge,  for  the  good  of  others,  generously  forgets  its 
bearing  on  himself,  and  m>akes  a  full  and  voluntary  confes- 
sion of  the  sins  he  had  committed  against  "  himself,  his 
friends,  his  children,  and  his  God  ?"  In  the  agony  of 
remorse,  at  the  retrospection,  he  thus  required  that  this  his 
confession  should  hereafter  be  given  to  the  public.    "After 

MY  DEATH,  I  EARNESTLY  ENTREAT,  THAT  A  FULL  AND  UN- 
aUALIFIED  NARRATIVE  OF  MY  WRETCHEDNESS,  AND  ITS  GUILTY 
CAUSE,  MAY  BE  MADE  PUBLIC,  THAT  AT  LEAST  SOME  LITTLE 
GOOD    MAY    BE    EFFECTED    BY    THE    DIREFUL    EXAMPLE."       This 

is  the  most  redeeming  letter  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ever 


INTRODUCTION. 


penned.  A  callous  heart  could  not  have  written  it.  A 
Christian,  awaking  ti'om  his  temporary  hethargy,  might. 
While  it  powerfully  propitiates  the  reader,  it  ahnost  con- 
\tfrts  condemnation  into  compassion. 

No  considerate  friend,  it  might  be  thought,  would  have 
desired  the  suppression  of  this  letter,  but  rather  its  most 
extended  circulation  ;  and  that,  among  other  cogent  rea- 
sons, from  the  immense  moral  lesson,  enforced  by  it,  in 
perpetuity,  on  all  consumers  of  opium  ;  in  which  they  will 
behold,  as  well  as  in  some  of  the  other  letters,  the  -  tre- 
mendous consequences"  (to  use  Mr.  Coleridge's  own  ex- 
pressions) of  such  practices  exemplitied  in  his  own  person; 
and  to  which  terrible  etiects,  he  himself  so  often,  and  so 
impressively  refers.  It  was  doubtless  a  deep  conviction 
of  the  beneficial  tendencies  involved  in  the  publication,  that 
prompted  Mr.  C.  to  direct  publicity  to  be  given  to  this 
remarkable  letter,  after  his  decease. 

The  incidents  connected  with  the  lives  of  Mr.  Coleridge 
and  Mr.  Southey.  are  so  intimately  blended,  from  relation- 
ship, association,  and  kindred  pursuits,  that  the  biography 
of  one,  to  a  considerable  extent,  involves  that  of  \he  other. 
The  following  narrative,  however,  professes  to  be  annals 
of,  rather  than  a  circumstantial  account  of  these  two  re- 
markable nen. 

Some  persons  may  be  predisposed  to  misconstrue  the 
motive  for  giving  publicity  to  the  following  letter :  but 
others,  it  is  hoped,  will  admit  that  the  sole  object  has  been, 
not  to  draw  the  reader's  attention  to  the  writer,  but  to  con- 
fer credit  on  Southey,  Many  are  the  individuals  who 
would  have  assisted,  to  a  greater  extent  than  myself,  two 
young  men  of  decided  genius,  like  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge, and  Robert    Southey,  who    required,   at  the    com- 


INTRODUCTION. 


mencement  of  their  literary  career,  encouragement,  and  a 
little  assistance.  Few  however,  would  have  exhibited  the 
magnanimity  which  Southey  displayed,  in  seasons  of  im- 
proved circumstances,  by  referring  to  slender  acts  of  kind- 
ness, long  past,  and  scarcely  remembered  but  by  himself 
Few  are  the  men,  who,  after  having  surmounted  their 
difficulties  by  honorable  exertion,  would  have  referred  to 
past  seasons  of  perplexity,  and  have  desired — that  occur- 
ences "  might  be  seen  hereafter,"  which  little  minds  would 
sedulously  have  concealed,  as  discredit,  rather  than  as  con- 
ferring conspicuous  honor. 

Ten  years  after  the  incidents  had  occurred  to  which  the 
following  letter  refers,  in  writing  to  Mr.  Southey,  among 
other  subjects,  I  casually  expressed  a  regret,  that  when  I 
quitted  the  business  of  a  bookseller,  I  had  not  returned  him 
the  copy-rights  of  his  "  Joan  of  Arc  ;"  of  his  two  volumes 
of  Poems  ;  and  of  his  letters  from  Spain  and  Portugal. 
The  following  was  his  reply. 

"  Wednesday  evening,  Greta  Hall,  April  28,  1808. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  *  *  what  you  say  of  my  copy-rights  affects  me  very  much.  Dear 
Cottle,  set. your  heart  at  rest  on  that  subject.  It  ought  to  be  at  rest.  They 
were  yours ;  fairly  bought  and  fairly  sold.  You  bought  them  on  the  chance 
of  their  success,  what  no  London  bookseller  would  have  done  ;  and  had  they 
not  been  bought,  they  could  not  have  been  pubhshed  at  all.  Nay,  if  you  had 
not  published  '  Joan  of  Arc,'  the  poem  never  would  have  existed,  nor  should 
I,  in  all  probability,  ever  have  obtained  that  reputation  which  is  the  capital  on 
which  I  subsist,  nor  that  power  which  enables  me  to  support  it. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Do  you  suppose,  Cottle,  that  I  have  forgotten  those  true 
and  most  essential  acts  of  friendship  which  you  showed  me  when  I  stood  most 
in  need  of  them  ?  Your  house  was  my  house  when  I  had  no  other.  The 
very  money  with  which  I  bought  my  wedding  ring,  and  paid  my  marriage 
fees,  was  suppUed  by  you.  It  was  with  your  sisters  that  I  left  my  Edith,  dur- 
ing my  six  months'  absence ;  and  for  the  six  months  after  my  return,  it  was 


INTRODUCTION. 


from  you  that  I  received,  week  by  week,  the  little  on  which  we  lived,  till  I  waa 
enabled  to  live  by  other  means.  It  is  not  the  settling  of  our  cash  account  that 
can  cancel  obligations  lilce  these.  You  are  in  the  habit  of  preserving  your  let- 
ters, and  if  you  were  not,  /  wauld  entreat  you  i^o  preserve  this,  that  it  might  be 
seen  hereafter.  Sure  I  am,  that  there  never  was  a  more  generous,  nor  a  kinder 
heart  than  yours,  and  you  will  believe  me  when  I  add,  that  there  does  not  live 
that  man  upon  earth,  whom  I  remember  with  more  gratitude,  and  more  affec- 
tion. My  heart  throbs,  and  my  eyes  burn  with  these  recollections.  Good 
night,  my  dear  old  friend  and  benefactor. 

Robert  Southey." 

Gratitude  is  a  plant  indigenous  to  Heaven.  Specimens 
are  rarely  found  on  Earth.     This  is  one. 

Mr.  Southey,  on  previous  occasions,  had  advised  me  to 
write  my  "  Recollections  of  Persons  and  Things,"  and  it 
having  been  understood  that  I  v^as  about  to  prepare  a 
memoir  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  (1836,)  Mr.  S.  renew^ed  his  solici- 
tation, as  will  appear  by  the  following  extracts. 

•^  Keswick,  April  14,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

There  is,  I  hope,  time  enough  for  you  to  make  a  very  interesting  book  of 
your  own  '  Recollections,'  a  book  which  will  be  of  no  little  value  to  the  history 
of  our  native  city,  and  the  hterature  of  our  times.  Your  prose  has  a  natural 
ease  which  no  study  could  acquire.  I  am  very  confident  you  could  make  as 
delightful  a  book  on  this  subject  as  Isaac  Walton  has  in  his  way.  If  you  are 
drawing  up  your  '  Recollections  of  Coleridge,'  you  are  most  welcome  to  insert 
anything  of  mine  which  you  may  think  proper.  To  be  employed  in  such  a 
work,  with  the  principles  and  frame  of  mind  wherewith  you  would  engage  in 
it,  is  to  be  instructing  and  admonishing  your  fellow-creatures ;  it  is  employing 
your  talents,  and  keeping  up  that  habitual  preparation  for  the  enduring  in- 
heritance in  which  the  greater  part  of  your  Ufe  has  been  spent.  Men  like  us, 
who  write  in  sincerity,  and  with  the  desire  of  teaching  others  so  to  think,  and 
to  feel,  as  may  be  best  for  themselves  and  the  community,  are  laboring  as  much 
in  their  vocation  as  if  they  were  composing  sermons,  or'delivering  them  from 
the  pulpit.         *         *         * 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend.     Always  yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey. 


INTRODUCTION. 


On  another  occasion  Mr.  S.  thus  wrote. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

I  both  wish  and  advise  you  to  draw  up  your  '  Reminiscences.''  I  advise 
you  for  your  own  sake,  as  a  valuable  memorial,  and  wish  it  for  my  own,  that 
that  part  of  my  life  might  be  faithfully  reported  by  the  person  who  knows  it 
best.  *  *  *  You  have  enough  to  tell  which  is  harmless,  as  well  as  inter- 
esting, and  not  harmless  only,  but  instructive,  and  that  ought  to  be  told,  and 
which  only  you  can  tellP 

It  may  be  proper  to  notice  that  the  title  here  adopted,  of 
"Reminiscences,"  is  to  be  understood  as  a  general,  rather 
than  as  a  strictly  applicable  phrase,  since  the  present  mis- 
cellaneous work  is  founded  on  letters  and  various  memo- 
randa, that  for  the  most  part,  have  lain  in  a  dormant  state 
for  many  years,  and  which  were  preserved  as  mementos 
of  past  scenes  personally  interesting,  but  without,  in  the 
first  instance,  the  least  reference  to  ultimate  publication. 

I  cannot  withhold  a  final  remark,  with  which  my  own 
mind  is  greatly  affected  ;  from  revolving  on  a  most  unex- 
pected, as  it  is  a  singular  fact, — that  these  brief  memorials 
of  Mr.  Coleridge,  and  Mr.  Southey,  should  be  written  by 
the  same  individual  who,  more  than  half  a  century  before, 
contributed  his  humble  efforts  to  assist,  and  encourage 
them,  in  their  first  entrance  on  a  literary  life.  The  whole 
of  the  events  thus  recorded,  appear  through  the  dim  vista 
of  memory,  already  with  the  scenes  before  the  flood  !  while 
all  the  busy,  the  aspiring,  and  the  intellectual  spirits  here 
noticed,  and  once  so  well  known,  have  been  hurried  oflf 
our  mortal  stage  ! — Robert  Lovell ! — George  Burnet ! — 
Charles  Lloyd ! — George  Catcott ! — Dr.  Beddoes  ! — Charles 
Danvers  ! — Amos  Cottle  ! — William  Gilbert ! — John  Mor- 
gan ! — Ann  Yearsley  ! — Sir  H.  Davy  ! — Hannah  More  ! — 


INTRODUCTION. 


Robert  Hall  ! — Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ! — Charles  Lamb  ! 
— Thomas  Poole  ! — Josiah  Wade  ! — Robert  Southey  ! — 
and  John  Foster  ! — confirming  with  fresh  emphasis, 

"  What  shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue!" 

J.C. 
Bristol,  April  20,  1847 


CONTENTS 


PAGK 

Fantisocracy  and  Robert  Lovcll       .         .         .         .         .         ^        .         .  2 

Mr.  Southey  and  Mr.  Burnet  arrive  m  Bristol 4 

Mr.  Ooleridge  arrives  in  Bristol       ........  4 

Fears  for  the  Pantisocritans  dissipated             8 

A  London  bookseller  offers  Mr.  Coleridge  six  guineas  for  the  copy-right 

of  his  Poems         ......         .....  9 

]\lr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey  each  sells  his  1st  volume  of  Poems  for 

thirty  guineas 9 

Mr.  Southey  sells  his  Joan  of  Arc  for  fifty  guineas          ....  10 

Mr.  Coleridge  begins  his  lectures  in  Bristol      ......  10 

Specimen  of  ?>Ir.  C.'s  lecture  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .11 

Liberty's  letter  to  Famine        .........  12 

Mr.  C.'s  political  lectures,  &c. 13 

Death  of  Robert  Lovell 15 

Mr.  Southey's  course  of  historical  lectures 18 

Mr.  Coleridge  disappoints  his  audience             ......  19 

Excursion  to  Tin  tern  Abbey 20 

Dissension  between  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey        ....  21 

Incidents  connected  with  Mr.  Coleridge's  volume  of  Poems             .         .  26 

Mr.  Coleridge  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Fricker 29 

Household  articles  required      .........  30 

Notices  of  WilUam  Gilbert,  Ann  Yearsley,  H.  More,  and  Robert  Hall   .  31 

Mr.  Coleridge  removes,  first  to  Bristol  and  then  to  Stowey       ...  48 

"         again  to  Bristol    .......  50 

Mr.  Coleridge's  woful  letter 51 

Poems,  now  published              52 

projects  his  "  Watchman"    •.         .         .         .         .         .56 

seven  letters,  while  on  his  journey  to  collect  subscribers 

to  the  "  Watchman" 63 

inaugural  sermon  at  Bath        ......  70 

Mr.  Lloyd  domesticates  with  Mr.  Coleridge 74 

Mr.  Coleridge's  melancholy  letter 76 

views  of  Epic  Poetry 77 

Q,uarrel  between  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey  reconciled           .         .  79 


CONTENTS. 


Mt.  Coleridge's  letter  to  Miss  Cruickshanks 

diagram  of  the  second  bottle 

theological  letter 

prepares  lor  a  second  edition  of  his  Poems 

letter  to  George  Calcott 

on  hexameters,  &c. 

Foster-mother's  tale  (extract) 

ludicrous  interview  with  a  country 

Poem  relating  to  Burns 

character  of  Mr.  Wordsworth 

Herbert  Croft  and  Chatterton  (Note)      . 

Coleridge's  character  of  Thelwall    . 

Letters  from  Clmrles  Lamb      .... 

Mr.  Coleridge's  lines  to  Joseph  Cottle 

.Sara's  lines  to  the  same  .... 

Three  Sonnets,  by  Nehemiah  Higginbotham 

Coleridge,  Lloyd,  and  Lamb,  quarrel 

Lamb's  sarcastic  Theses  to  Mr.  Coleridge 

Coleridge  goes  to  Shrewsbury  on  probation     . 

Mr.  Coleridge  receives  an  annuity  of  £150  from  the  Messrs.  Thomas  and 

Josiah  Wedgewood       ..... 
Letters  from  Mr.  Wordsworth — Lyrical  Ballads 
IVIr.  Wordsworth  caballed  against    . 
Disasters  attending  a  dinner  with  Mr.  Wordsworth 
Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  depart  for  Germany 
Mr.  Coleridge's  character  of  Mr.  Southey 
Mr.  Southey  marries  Miss  Edith  Fricker 
Three  letters  of  Mr.  Southey  from  Falmouth  and  Portugal 
Sundry  letters  from  Mr.  Southey  to  Joseph  Cottle 
George  Dyer  and  a  ludicrous  incident      .... 
Mr.  Southey' s  rhyming  letter  from  Lisbon 
3Ir.  Churchey,  and  incidents  concerning  him 
Mr.  Southey  in  danger  from  an  enraged  author 

Mr.  Southey  and  Wat  Tyler 

Mr.  Foster  explains  how  W'at  Tyler  came  to  be  published 

J.  Morgan's  ruined  circumstances — Mr,  S.'s  proposal  for  a  subscript] 

List  of  Mr.  Southey' s  contributions  to  the  Quarterly 

Discovery  of  first  edition  of  Pilgrim's  Progress 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter  on  travelling  in  Germany 

Slow  sale  at  first  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  Lyrical  Ballads 

Mr.  Humphrey  Davy  arrives  in  Bristol 

Dr.  Beddoe  and  the  Pneumatic  Institution 

Mr.  Davy's  dangerous  experiments  with  the  gases 

Mr.  Coleridge's  and  Mr.  Davy's  anecdotes 

Mr.  Coleridge  relates  his  mihtary  adventures 

Mr.  Toleridge's  Epigrams  from  the  German 


CONTENTS.  iv 


PAGE 

Character  of  Coleridge  by  Professor  Wilson,  Mr.  Sargeant  Talfourd, 
Dr.  Dibdin,  Mr.  Justice  Coleridge,  Rev.  Archdeacon  Hare,  Quarterly 
Review,  Rev.  C.  V.  Le  Grice         .         .         .         ;         .         .         .         .217 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter  to  Mr.  Cottle  on  his  return  from  Malta,  1807          .  227 

Rev.  J.  Foster's  letter  concerning  Coleridge     .'.,...  228 

Mr.  Coleridge's  singular  escape  from  Italy •  230 

letter  on  the  Trinity 233 

views  of  Unitarianism             241 

character  of  Sir  H.  Davy 244 

Sir  H.  Davy's  rebuke  of  an  Infidel          .......  244 

Mr.  Coleridge's  character  of  Holcroft,  the  Atheist           ....  244 

Rev.  J.  Foster's  letter  respecting  his  Essay  on  Doddridge         .         .         .  247 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter  to  Mr.  G.  Fricker            .         .         .         .         .         .  250 

Mr.  Quincey  presents  Mr.  Coleridge  with  £300 255 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter  on  Narrative  Poems 255 

Reasons  why  Mr.  Coleridge's  opium  habits  should  not  be  concealed        .  258 

Mr.  Coleridge  ill  in  Bath 260 

Mr.  Coleridge  engages  to  lecture  in  Bristol,  1814 — Disappoints  his  au- 
dience, by  an  excursion  into  North  Wales    ...                  .         .  261 
Mr,  Coleridge's  lines  foi"  a  transparency  at  the  capture  of  Bonaparte     .  264 

Mr.  Coleridge's  approval  of  Infant  Schools 266 

Mr.  Cottle's  letter  of  remonstrance  respecting  opium       ....  268 

Mr.  Coleridge's  distressing  letters  in  reply 272 

Mr.  Coleridge  wishes  to  be  placed  in  an  asylum       .....  275 

Mr.  Southey's  letters  respecting  Mr.  Coleridge          .....  276 

Mr.  Coleridge's  contrivance  to  cheat  the  doctor 284 

Mr.  Coleridge  leaves  Bristol  for  Calne      .......  285 

Letters  of  Mr.  Southey  respecting  Mr.  Coleridge 286 

Letter  of  Mr  Coleridge  from  Calne          .......  286 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter,  requiring  the  truth  to  be  told  of  his  opium  habits, 

after  his  death 292 

Mr.  Coleridge's  letter  to  his  godson,  Kinnaird  .....  294 
Letters  from  Mr.  Southey  concerning   Mr.  Allsop,  and  the   scheme  of 

Pantisocracy  and  Mr.  Coleridge             298 

Letters  from  Mr.  Southey  concerning  "  Early  Recollections"  .         .         .  304 

Letter  from  Mr.  Southey — his  Western  journey 307 

Letter  from  Mr.  Southey — Melancholy  foreboding            ....  308 

Mr.  Southey's  mental  malady           .         .         .         .      ■  .         .         .         .  308 

Letter  from  Mr.  Foster  relating  to  Mr.  Southey  .....  309 
Mr.  Cottle's  letter  to  Mr.  Foster,  respecting  Mr.  Southey  .  .  .310 
Sixteen  letters  from  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Thomas  and  Josiah  Wedgewood, 

Esqrs. 315 

List  of  works  promised  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  but  not  written       .        .         .  347 

Mr.  Coleridge  sound  in  health,  in  1800 350 

his  health  undermined  by  opium,  soon  after      .         .         .  350 

Dr.  Carlyon,  relating  to  Mr.  Coleridge  (Note) 351 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

Extracts  from  Mr.  Poole's  letters  respecting  Mr.  Coleridge       .         .        .  351 

Dr.  Adams's  letter  to  Mr.  Gillman,  respecting  Mr.  Coleridge   .         .         .  354 

Mr.  Coleridge  domesticates  with  Mr.  Gillman 355 

Letter  of  Mr.  Foster  respecting  Mr.  Coleridge 356 

Prayer  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  1831 357 

Mr.  Coleridge's  Epitaph  on  himself 359 

Mr.  Coleridge's  monument 359 

APPENDIX. 

Character  of  John  Henderson 361 

Controversy  of  Rowley  and  Chatterton 368 

The  Weary  Pilgrim,  a  Poem 374 


REMINISCENCES. 


Ten  years  ago  I  published  ''  Recollections  of  S.  T.  Coleridge.'* 
This  work  I  have  revised,  and  embodied  in  the  present  "  Remi- 
niscences of  S.  T.  Coleridge,  and  Robert  Southey."  My  views 
and  motives  have  been  explained  in  the  Introduction. 

If  some  readers  should  consider  that  there  are  occasional  docu- 
ments introduced  into  the  following  work,  too  unimportant  and 
derogatory  to  legitimate  biography,  I  would  observe,  that  it  was 
desicrned  that  nothinor  should  be  admitted  which  was  not  charac- 

o  o 

teristic  of  the  individual ;  and  that  which  illustrates  character  in  a 
man  of  genius,  cannot  well  be  esteemed  trifling  and  deserving  o^ 
rejection. — In  preparing  these  Reminiscences,  some  effort  has  be^i 
required.  I  have  endeavored  to  forget  the  intervening  space  of 
forty  or  fifty  years,  and,  as  far  as  it  was  practicable,  to  enter  on 
the  scenes  and  circumstances  described  with  all  the  feelings  coin- 
cident with  that  distant  period.  My  primary  design  has  been  to 
elucidate  the  incidents  referring  to  the  early  lives  of  the  late  Mr. 
Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey ;  yet  I  purposed,  in  addition,  to  intro- 
duce brief  notices  of  some  other  remarkable  characters,  known  in 
Bristol  at  this  time. 

To  account  for  my  introduction  to  all  the  persons  subsequently 
noticed,  it  is  necessary  to  apprise  the  reader  that  I  was  a  booksel- 
ler in  Bristol  from  the  year  1791  to  1*798;  from  the  age  of  21  to 
28 ;  and  having  imbibed  from  my  tutor  and  friend,  the  late  John 
Henderson,  (one  of  the  most  extraordinary  of  men,)  some  little 
taste  for  literature,  I  foimd  myself,  during  that  period,  generally 

1 


REMINISCENCES    OF 


Burrounded  by  men   of  cultivated  minds/-^     With  these  prelimi- 
nary remarks  I  shall  commence  the  narrative. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1794,  a  clever  young  man,  of  the  So- 
ciety of  Friends,  of  the  name  of  Robert  Lovell,  vvho  had  miarried 
a  Miss  Fricker,  informed  me  that  a  few  friends  of  his  from  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  with  himself,  were  about  to  sail  to  America,  and, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Susquehannah,  to  form  a  Social  Colony,  in 
which  there  was  to  be  a  community  of  property,  and  where  all 
that  was  selfish  was  to  be  proscribed.  None,  he  said,  vrere  to  be 
admitted  into  their  number,  but  tried  and  incorruptible  characters  ; 
and  he  felt  quite  assured  that  he  and  his  friends  would  be  able  to 
realize  a  state  of  society  free  from  the  evils  and  turmoils  that  then 
agitated  the  world,  and  to  present  an  example  of  the  eminence  to 
which  men  might  arrive  under  the  unrestrained  influence  of  sound 
principles.  He  now  paid  me  the  compliment  of  saying  that  he 
would  be  happy  to  include  7ne  in  this  select  assemblage  who,  un- 
der a  state  which  he  called  Pantisocracy,  v\^ere,  he  hoped,  to  re- 
generate the  whole  complexion  of  society ;  and  that,  not  by  es- 
tablishing formal  laws,  but  by  excluding  all  the  little  deteriorating 
passions  ;  injustice,  ''  wrath,  anger,  clamor,  and  evil  speaking," 
and  thereby  setting  an  example  of  "  Human  Perfectibility." 
nYoung  as  I  was,  I  suspected  there  was  an  old  and  intractable 
leaven  in  hum.an  nature  that  would  effectually  frustrate  these  airy 
schemes  of  happiness,  vrhich  had  been  projected  in  every  age,  and 
always  with  the  same  result.  At  first  the  disclosure  so  confounded 
my  understanding,  that  I  almost  fancied  myself  transported  to 
some  new  state  of  things,  while  images  of  patriarchal  and  pristine 
felicity  stood  thick  around,  decked  in  the  rainbov/'s  colors.  A 
moment's  reflection,  however,  dissolved  the  unsubstantial  vision, 
when  I  asked  him  a  few  plain  questions. 

"  How  do  you  go  ?"  said  I.  My  young  and  ardent  friend  in- 
stantly replied,  "  We  freight  a  ship,  carrying  out  with  us  ploughs, 
and  other  implements  of  husbandry."  The  thought  occurred  to 
me,  that  it  might  be  more  economical  to  purchase  such  articles  in 

*  The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  the  present  work  consists  of  Autobiog- 
raphy, and  therefore,  however  repugnant  to  the  writer's  feelings,  the  apparent 
egotism  has  been  unavoidable. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY. 


America ;  but  not  too  jv-ucli  to  disco uiage  the  enthusiastic  aspirant 
after  happiness,  I  forbore  all  reference  to  the  accumulation  of  dif- 
ficulties to  be  surmounted,  and  merely  inquired  who  were  to  com- 
pose his  compan}^  ?  He  said  that  only  four  had  as  yet  absolutely 
engaged  in  the  enterprise ;  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  from  Cam- 
bridge ;  (in  whom  I  understood  the  plan  to  have  originated  ;) 
liobert  Southey  and  George  Burnet,  from  Oxford,  and  himself. 
"  Well,"  I  replied,  "  when  do  you  set  sail  ?"  He  answered,  "  Very 
shortly.  I  soon  expect  my  friends  from  the  Universities,  w^hen  all 
the  preliminaries  will  be  adjusted,  and  we  shall  joyfully  cross  the 
blue  waves  of  the  Atlantic."  '•'  But,"  said  I,  ''to  freight  a  ship, 
and  sail  out  in  the  high  style  of  gentlemen  agriculturists,  will  re- 
quire funds.  How  do  you  manage  this  ?"  "  We  all  contribute 
what  we  can,"  said  he,  ''  and  I  shall  introduce  all  my  dear  friends 
to  you,  immediately  on  tlieir  arrival  in  Bristol." 

Robert  Lovell  (though  inexperienced,  and  constitutionally  san- 
guine) was  a  good  specimen  of  tlie  open  frankness  which  charac- 
terizes the  well-informed  members  of  the  Society  of  Friends  ;  and 
he  excited  in  me  an  additional  interest,  from  a  warmth  of  feeling, 
and  an  extent  of  reading,  above  even  the  ordinary  standard  of  the 
estimable  class  to  which  he  belonged.  He  now  read  me  some  of 
the  MS.  poems  of  his  two  unknown  friends,  which  at  once  estab- 
lished their  genius  in  my  estimation."^ 

*  Robert  Lovell,  himself  was  a  poet,  as  will  appear  by  the  following  being 
one  of  his  Sonnets. 

STONEHENGE. 

Was  it  a  spirit  on  yon  shapeless  pile  1 

It  wore,  methought,  a  holy  Druid's  form, 

Musing  on  ancient  days !     The  dying  storm 
Moan'd  in  his  lifted  locks.     Thou,  night !  the  while 
Dost  listen  to  his  sad  harp's  wild  complaint, 

Mother  of  shadows  !  as  to  thee  he  pours 

The  broken  strain,  and  plaintively  deplores 
The  fall  of  Druid  fame  !     Hark  !  murmurs  faint 
Breathe  on  the  wavy  air !  and  now  more  loud 

Swells  the  deep  dirge ;  accustomed  to  complain 
Of  holy  rites  unpaid,  and  of  the  crowd 

Whose  ceaseless  steps  the  sacred  haunts  profane. 
O'er  the  wild  plain  the  hurrying  tempest  flies. 
And,  mid  the  storm  unheard,  the  song  of  sorrow  dies. 


REMINISCENCES   OF 


My  leisure  ha\T[ng  been  devoted  for  many  years  to  reading  and 
composition,  and  having  a  small  volume  of  Poems  at  that  time  in 
the  press,  I  anticipated  great  pleasure  from  an  introduction  to  two 
poets,  who  superadded  to  talents  of  a  high  order,  all  the  advan- 
tages arising  from  learning,  and  a  consequent  fiimiliarity  with  the 
best  models  of  antiquity.  Independently  of  which,  they  excited 
an  interest,  and  awakened  a  peculiar  solicitude,  from  their  being 
about  so  soon  to  leave  their  father-land,  and  to  depart  permanently 
for  a  foreign  shore. 

One  morning  shortly  after,  Robert  Lovell  called  on  me,  and  in- 
troduced Robert  Southey.  Never  will  the  impression  be  effaced, 
produced  on  me  by  this  young  man.  Tall,  dignified,  possessing 
great  suavity  of  manners ;  an  eye  piercing,  with  a  countenance 
full  of  genius,  kindliness,  and  intelligence,  I  gave  him  at  once  the 
right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  to  the  moment  of  his  decease,  that 
cordiality  was  never  withdrawn.  I  had  read  so  much  of  poetry 
and  sympathized  so  much  with  poets  in  all  their  eccentricities  and 
vicissitudes,  that,  to  see  before  me  the  realization  of  a  character, 
which  in  the  abstract  most  absorbed  my  regards,  gave  me  a  de- 
gree of  satisfaction  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  express. 

I  must  now  make  a  brief  reference  to  George  Burnet,  who,  in 
this  epidemic  delusion,  had  given  his  sanction  to,  and  embarked 
all  his  prospects  in  life  on  this  Pantisocratical  scheme.  He  was  a 
young  man  about  the  age  of  twenty ;  the  son  of  a  respectable 
Somersetshire  farmer,  who  had  bestowed  on  him  his  portion,  by 
giving  him  an  University  education  as  an  introduction  to  the 
Church,  into  which  he  probably  would  have  entered  but  for  this 
his  transatlantic  pursuit  of  happiness.  His  talents  were  not  con- 
spicuous, but  his  manners  were  unpresuming,  and  honesty  was 
depicted  on  his  countenance.  He  possessed  also  that  habitual 
good  temper,  and  those  accommodating  manners,  which  would 
prove  a  desirable  accession  in  any  society  ;  and  it  soon  appeared, 
without  indicating  any  disrespect,  that  his  was  a  subordinate  part 
to  act  in  the  new  drama,  and  not  the  less  valuable  for  its  wanting 
splendor. 

After  some  considerable  delay,  it  was  at  length  announced  that 
on  the  coming  morning  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  would  arrive  in 
Bristol,  as  the  nearest  and  most  convenient  port ;  and  where  he 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY. 


was  to  reside  but  a  short  time  before  the  favoring  gales  were  to 
waft  him  and  his  friends  across  the  Atlantic.  Robert  Lovell  at 
length  introduced  Mr.  C.  I  instantly  descried  his  intellectual 
character ;  exhibiting  as  he  did,  an  eye,  a  brow,  and  a  forehead, 
indicative  of  *  commanding  genius.  Interviews  succeeded,  and 
these  increased  the  impression  of  respect.  Each  of  my  new 
friends  read  me  his  productions.  Each  accepted  my  invitations, 
and  gave  me  those  repeated  proofs  of  good  opinion,  ripening  fast 
into  esteem,  that  I  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  kindness  of  their 
manners,  Avhich,  it  may  truly  be  affirmed,  infused  into  my  heart  a 
brotherly  feeling,  that  more  than  identified  their  interests  with 
my  own. 

I  mtroduced  them  to  several  intelligent  friends,  and  their  own 
merits  soon  augmented  the  number,  so  that  their  acquaintance  be- 
came progressively  extended,  and  their  society  coveted.  Bristol 
was  now  found  a  very  pleasant  residence  ;  and  though  the  ship 
was  not  engaged,  nor  the  least  preparation  made  for  so  long  a 
voyage,  still  the  delights  and  wide -spreading  advantages  of  Pan- 
tisocracy  formed  one  of  their  everlasting  themes  of  conversation ; 
and,  considering  the  barrenness  of  the  subject,  it  was  in  no  com- 
mon degree  amusing,  to  hear  these  young  enthusiasts  repel  every 
objection  to  tlie  practicability  of  their  scheme,  and  magnify  the 
condition  to  which  it  was  to  introduce  them ;  where  thorns  and 
briers  were,  no  doubt,  to  be  expelled,  and  their  couch  to  be 
strewed  with  down  and  roses. 

It  will  excite  merely  an  innocent  smile  in  the  reader  at  the  ex- 
travagance of  a  youthful  and  ardent  mind,  when  he  learns  that 
Robert  Lovell  stated  with  great  seriousness,  that,  after  the  minut- 
est calculation  and  inquiry  among  practical  men,  the  demand  on 
their  labor  would  not  exceed  tAvo  hours  a  day  ;  that  is,  for  the 
production  of  absolute  necessaries.  The  leisure  still  remaining, 
might  be  devoted,  in  convenient  fractions,  to  the  extension  of  their 
domain,  by  prostrating  the  sturdy  trees  of  the  forest,  where  "  lop 
and  top,"  without  cost,  would  supply  their  cheerful  winter  fire ; 
and  the  trunks,  when  cut  into  planks,  without  any  other  expense 
than  their  own  pleasant  labor,  v/ould  form  the  sties  for  their  pigs, 
and  the  linnies  for  their  cattle,  and  the  barns  for  their  produce ; 
reserving  their  choicest  timbers  for  their  own  comfortable  log- 


REMINISCENCES  OF 


dwellings.  But  after  every  claim  that  might  be  made  on  their 
manual  labor  had  been  discharged,  a  large  portion  of  time  would 
still  remain  for  their  own  individual  pursuits,  so  that  they  might 
read,  converse,  and  even  write  books. 

Cowper,  in  an  unpublished  letter  now  before  me,  says,  "  I  know 
well  that  publication  is  necessary  to  give  an  edge  to  the  poetic 
turn,  and  that  what  we  produce  in  the  closet,  is  never  a  vigorous 
birth,  if  we  intend  that  it  should  die  there.  For  my  own  part  I 
could  no  more  amuse  myself  with  writing  verse,  if  I  did  not  print 
it  when  written,  than  with  the  study  of  tactics,  for  which  I  can 
never  have  any  real  occasion."  But  our  young  and  ardent  friends 
seemed  to  entertain  a  strong  impression  that  the  mere  pleasure 
of  writing,  that  is,  like  virtue,  writing  for  its  own  sake,  was  all  the 
mental  and  rational  gratification  wise  men  could  desire.  Views 
and  times  alter,  and  these  richly-endowed  young  men,  in  after 
life,  were  prompt,  and  amongst  the  first  to  confess  the  fallacious 
schemes  of  their  youth  ;  but  at  this  time  the  pleasurable  alone 
occupied  their  field  of  vision,  and  confidence  never  stood  more 
unencumbered  with  doubt. 

If  any  difficulties  were  now  started,  and  many  such  there  were, 
a  profusion  of  words  demonstrated  the  reasonableness  of  the 
whole  design,  impressing  all  who  heard,  with  the  conviction  that 
the  citadel  was  too  strong  for  assault.  The  Mercury  at  these 
times  was  generally  Mr.  Coleridge,  who,  as  has  been  stated,  in- 
geniously parried  every  adverse  argument,  and  after  silencing  his 
hardy  disputants,  announced  to  them  that  he  y.'as  about  to  write 
and  publish  a  quarto  volume  in  favor  of  Pantisocracy,  in  which  a 
variety  of  arguments  vould  be  advanced  in  defence  of  his  system, 
too  subtile  and  recondite  to  comport  with  conversation.  It  would 
then,  he  said,  become  manifest  that  he  was  not  a  projector  raw 
from  his  cloister,  but  a  cool  calculating  reasoner,  whose  efforts 
and  example  would  secure  to  him  and  his  friends  the  permanent 
gratitude  of  mankind. 

From  the  sentiments  thus  entertained,  I  shall  represent  Mr. 
Coleridge,  in  the  section  of  his  days  which  devolves  on  me  to  ex- 
hibit, just  as  he  was,  and  that  with  a  firm  belief  that  by  so  doing, 
without  injuring  his  legitimate  reputation,  I  shall  confer  an  essen- 
tial benefit  on  those  to  come,  who  Avill  behold  in  Mr.  C.  much  to 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHE  F. 


admire  and  imitate ;  and  certainly  some  things  to  regret.  For  it 
should  be  remembered,  Mr.  Coleridge,  from  universal  admission, 
possessed  some  of  the  highest  mental  endowments,  and  many  per- 
taining to  the  heart ;  but  if  a  man's  life  be  valuable,  not  for  the 
incense  it  consumes,  but  for  the  instruction  it  affords,  to  state  even 
defects,  (in  one  like  Mr.  C.  who  can  so  well  afford  deduction  with- 
out serious  loss,)  becomes  in  his  biographer,  not  optional,  but  a 
serious  obligation. 

It  is  proper  additionally  to  remark,  that  some  apology  or  pro- 
pitiation may  be  necessary  tovfard  those  who  regard  every  ap- 
proximation to  poverty,  not  as  a  misfortune,  but  a  crime.  Pecu- 
niary difficulties,  especially  such  as  occur  in  early  life,  and  ilot 
ascribabie  to  bad  conduct,  reflect  no  discredit  on  men  of  genius. 
Many  of  them,  subsequently,  surmounted  their  first  embarrass- 
ments by  meritorious  exertion  ;  and  some  of  our  first  men  (like 
travellers,  after  having  successfully  passed  through  regions  of  pri- 
vation and  peril)  delight  even  to  recall  their  former  discourage- 
ments, and,  without  the  shame  that  luxuria.tes  alone  in  little 
minds,  undisguisedly  to  tell  of  seasons,  indelible  in  tlieir  memo- 
ries, when,  in  the  prostration  of  hope,  the  wide  world  appeared 
one  desolate  waste  !  but  they  ultimately  found,  that  these  sea- 
sons of  darkness,  (however  tenaciously  retained  by  memory,)  in 
better  times  often  administer  a  new  and  refreshing  zest  to  present 
enjoyment.  Despair,  therefore  ill  becomes  one  who  has  follies  to 
bewail,  and  a  God  to  trust  in.  Johnson  and  Goldsmith,  with  nu- 
merous others,  at  some  seasons  vrere  plunged  deep  in  the  w^aters 
of  adversity,  but  halcyon  days  awaited  them  :  and  even  those 
sons  of  merit  and  misfortune  whose  pecuniary  troubles  were  more 
permanent,  in  the  dimness  of  retrospection,  only  stand  out  invested 
in  softer  hues. 

Cervantes  is  not  the  less  read,  because  the  acclam^ations  of 
praise  were  heard  by  him  in  his  abode  of  penury.  Butler,  Ot- 
vfay,  Collins,  Chatterton,  Burns,  and  men  like  them,  instead  of 
suffering  in  public  estimation  from  the  difficulties  they  encoun- 
tered, absolutely  challenge  hi  every  generous  mind  an  excess  of 
interest  from  the  very  circumstances  that  darkened  the  complex- 
ion of  their  earthly  prospects. 

In  corroboration  of  this  remark,  in  our  own  day,  the  son  of 


REMINISCENCES    OF 


Crabbe,  who  must  have  cherislied  the  deepest  solicitude  for  his 
father's  reputation,  has  laid  bare  to  general  inspection  his  parent's 
early  perplexities,  by  which  impartial  disclosures  we  behold  the 
individual  in  his  deepest  depressions  ;  worth  enriched  by  trial, 
and  greatness,  by  a  refining  process,  struggling  successfully  with 
adversity.  Does  the  example  of  such  a  man  nobly  bearing  up 
against  the  pressures  that  surrounded  him  inflict  obduracy  on  our 
hearts?  On  the  contrary,  while  w^e  feelingly  sympathize  with 
the  poet,  and  deplore  the  tardy  hand  of  deliverance,  Ave  pause 
only  to  transfer  a  reflex  portion  of  praise  to  him  whose  magnani- 
mous conduct  has  furnished  so  ample  a  scope  for  the  tenderest 
emotions  of  our  nature.  This  reflection  w^ill  induce  me  not  to 
withhold  from  false  delicacy,  occurrences,  the  disclosure  of  which 
none  but  the  inconsiderate  will  condemn ;  and  by  which  all  the 
features  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  character  will  be  exhibited  to  the  in- 
spection of  the  inquisitive  and  philosophical  mind. 

I  proceed,  therefore,  to  state  that  the  solicitude  I  felt,  lest  these 
young  and  ardent  geniuses  should  in  a  disastrous  hour,  and  in 
their  mistaken  apprehensions,  commit  themselves  in  this  their  des- 
perate undertaking,  was  happily  dissipated  by  Mr.  Coleridge  ap- 
plying for  the  loan  of  a  little  cash, — to  pay  the  voyager's  freight  ? 
or  passage  ?  !No, — lodgings.  They  all  lodged,  at  this  time,  at 
No.  48,  College-Street.  JS'ever  did  I  lend  money  with  such  un- 
mingled  pleasure;  for  now  I  ceased  to  be  haunted  day  and 
night  with  the  spectre  of  the  ship  !  the  ship  !  which  w^as  to  effect 
such  incalculable  mischief !  The  form  of  the  request  was  the 
following : 

My  dear  Sir, 
Can  you  conveniently  lend  me  ^ve  pounds,  as  we  want  a  lit- 
tle more  than  four  pounds  to  make  up  our  lodging  bill,  which  is 
indeed  much  higher  than  we  expected ;  seven  weeks,  and  Bm'net's 
lodging  for  twelve  weeks,  amounting  to  eleven  pounds. 

Yours,  affectionately,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Till  this  time,  not  knowing  what  the  resources  of  my  young 
friends  were,  I  could  not  wholly  divest  myself  of  fear  ;  but  now 
an  eff'ectual  barrier  manifestly  interposed  to  save  them  from  de- 
struction.    And  though  their  romantic  plan  might  linger  in  their 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY. 


minds,  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  assured  that  their  strong  good 
sense  would  eventually  dissipate  their  delusions. 

Finding  now  that  there  was  a  deficiency  in  that  material, 
deemed  of  the  first  consequence  in  all  civilized  states,  and  re- 
membering Burgh's  feeling  lamentation  over  the  improvidence,  or 
rather  the  indifference  with  which  man}^  men  of  genius  regard  the 
low  thoughts  that  are  merely  of  a  pecuniary  nature,  I  began  to 
revolve  on  the  means  by  which  the  two  poets  might  advantage- 
ously apply  their  talents. 

Soon  after,  finding  Mr.  Coleridge  in  rather  a  desponding  mood, 
I  urged  him  to  keep  up  his  spirits,  and  recommended  him  to  pub- 
lish a  volume  of  his  poems.  "  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  a  use- 
less expedient."  He  continued  :  ''  I  offered  a  volume  of  my 
poems  to  different  booksellers  in  London,  who  would  not  even  look 
at  them !  The  reply  being,  '  Sir,  the  article  will  not  do.'  At 
length,  one,  more  accommodating  than  the  rest,  condescended  to 
receive  my  MS.  poems,  and,  after  a  deliberate  inspection,  offered 
me  for  the  copy-right,  six  guineas,  which  sum,  poor  as  I  was,  I 
refused  to  accept."  ''Well,"  said  I,  ''to  encourage  you,  I  will 
give  you  twenty  guineas."  It  was  very  pleasant  to  observe  the 
joy  that  instantly  diffused  itself  over  his  countenance.  "  Nay,"  I 
continued,  "  others  publish  for  themselves,  I  will  chiefly  remember 
you.  Instead  of  giving  you  twenty  guineas,  I  will  extend  it  to 
thirty,  and  without  waiting  for  the  completion  of  the  work,  to 
make  you  easy  you  may  have  the  money  as  your  occasions  re- 
quire." The  silence  and  the  grasped  hand,  showed  that  at  that 
moment  one  person  was  happy. 

Every  incident  connected  with  the  lives  of  literary  men,  espe- 
cially at  the  commencement  of  their  career,  always  excites  interest. 
I  have  been,  therefore,  the  more  particular  in  detailing  this  cir- 
cumstance, (except  for  its  connection,  of  no  consequence,)  and 
proceed  further  to  state,  that  now,  meeting  Mr.  Southey,  I  said 
to  him,  "  I  have  engaged  to  give  Mr.  Coleridge  thirty  guineas  for 
a  volume  of  his  poems ;  you  have  poems  equal  to  a  volume,  and 
if  you  approve  of  it,  I  will  give  you  the  same."  He  cordially 
thanked  me,  and  instantly  acceded  to  my  proposal. 

I  then  said  to  him,  "  you  have  read  me  several  books  of  your 
*  Joan  of  Arc,'  which  Poem  I  perceive  has  great  merit.     If  it  meet 

1* 


10  REMINISCENCES    OF 


with  your  concurrence,  I  will  give  you  fifty  guineas  for  this  work, 
and  publish  it  in  quarto,  when  I  will  give  you,  in  addition,  fifty 
copies  to  dispose  of  amongst  your  friends."  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  to  this  proposal  also  he  acceded. 

I  could  say  much  of  Mr.  Southey  at  this  time ;  of  his  consti- 
tutional cheerfulness  ;  of  the  polish  of  his  manners ;  of  his  digni- 
fied, and  at  the  same  time,  of  his  unassuming  deportment ;  as  well 
as  of  the  general  respect  which  his  talents,  conduct,  and  conver- 
sation excited.*  But  before  reference  be  made  to  more  serious 
publications,  some  notice  will  be  taken  of  other  objects  of  pursuit. 

Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey,  now  determined  by  their  best 
^fibrts,  in  other  ways  than  those  detailed,  to  raise  money  for  their 
projected  expedition.  They  resolved  therefore,  to  give  the  citizens 
of  Bristol  individual  lectures,  or  series  of  lectures,  on  different 
subjects.  Mr.  Coleridge  chose  Political  and  Moral  subjects  ;f  Mr. 
Southey  chose  History.  On  examining  my  old  papers,  I  find 
most  of  the  notices  or  prospectuses  relating  to  these  subjects. 

Mr.  Coleridge's  first  two  lectures  were  delivered  in  the  Corn 
Market  in  Wine-Street. 

Mr.  Colerido*e's  next  two  lectures  were  deliv^ered  the  latter  end 

o 

of  February,  1795,  and  afterwards  were  thrown  into  a  small 
pamphlet,  printed  under  the  title  of  "  Condones  ad  Populum,  or 
Addresses  to  the  People."  After  this  he  consolidated  two  other 
of  his  lectures,  and  published  them  under  the  title  of  "  Th«  Plot 
Discovered."  Two  detached  lectures  were  given  at  the  Corn 
Market,  and  one  at  a  room  in  Castle  Green.  All  these  lectures 
were  anti-Pitt-ite. 


*  I  had  an  opportunity  of  introducing  Mr,  Southey,  at  this  time,  to  the  eldest 
Mrs.  More,  who  invited  him  down  to  spend  some  whole  day  with  her  sister 
Hannah,  at  their  then  residence,  Cowshp  Green.  On  this  occasion,  as  re- 
quested, I  accompanied  him.  The  day  was  full  of  converse.  On  my  meeting 
one  of  the  ladies  soon  after,  I  was  gratified  to  learn  that  Mr.  S.  equally 
pleased  all  five  of  the  sisters.  She  said  he  was  "  brim  full  of  literature,  and 
one  of  the  most  elegant  and  intellectual  young  men  they  had  seen." 

j"  It  might  be  intimated,  that,  for  the  estabhshment  of  these  lectures,  there 
was,  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  mind,  an  interior  spring  of  action.  He  wanted  tc 
"  build  up"  a  provision  for  his  speedy  marriage  with  Miss  Sarah  Fricker : 
and  with  these  grand  combined  objects  before  him,  no  effort  appeared  too  vast 
to  be  accomplished  by  his  invigorated  faculties. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  U 

The  next  lecture  given  by  Mr.  Coleridge  was  in  reprobation  of 
the  Slave  Trade.     The  following  was  the  prospectus : — 

*•  To-morrow  evening,  June  16th,  1795,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  of  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  will  deliver  (by  particular  desire)  a  lecture  on  the  Slave  Trade, 
and  the  duties  that  result  from  its  continuance. 

To  begin  at  8  o'clock  in  the  evening,  at  the  Assembly  Coffee  House,  on  the 
Q,uay.     Admission,  One  shilling." 

His  next  lecture  was  (it  is  believed)  on  the  Hair  Powder  Tax, 
in  which  his  audience  were  kept  in  good  feeling,  by  the  happy 
union  of  wit,  humor,  and  argument.  Mr.  C.'s  lectures  were 
numerously  attended,  and  enthusiastically  applauded. 

It  may  amuse  and  gratify  the  reader,  to  receive  a  specimen  of 
a  lecture,^  descriptive  of  Mr.  C.'s  composition  and  reasoning,  de- 
livered at  this  time,  and  by  which  it  will  appear  that  his  politics 
were  not  of  that  inflammable  description  which  would  set  a  world 
in  flames. 

*  *  *  "  But  of  the  propriety  and  utility  of  holding  up  the  distant  mark 
of  attainable  perfection,  we  shall  enter  more  fully  tow^ard  the  close  of  this 
address.  We  turn  with  pleasure  to  the  contemplation  of  that  small  but 
glorious  band,  whom  we  may  truly  distinguish  by  the  name  of  thinking  and 
disinterested  patriots.f  These  are  the  men  who  have  encouraged  the  sympa- 
thetic passions  till  they  have  become  irresistible  habits,  and  made  their  duty  a 
necessary  part  of  their  self-interest,  by  the  long-continued  cultivation  of  that 
moral  taste,  wliich  derives  our  most  exquisite  pleasures  from  the  contemplation 
of  possible  perfection. 

Accustomed  to  regard  all  the  affairs  of  man  as  a  process,  they  never  hurry, 
and  they  never  pause.  Theirs  is  not  the  twilight  of  political  knowledge, 
which  gives  just  Hght  enough  to  place  one  foot  before  the  other  :  as  they  ad- 
vance, the  scene  still  opens  upon  them,  and  they  press  right  onward,  with  a 
vast  and  varied  landscape  of  existence  around  them.  Calmness  and  energy 
mark  all  their  actions.  Benevolence  is  tlie  silken  thread  that  runs  through 
the  pearl-chain  of  all  their  virtues.  The  unhappy  cliildren  of  vice  and  folly, 
whose  tempers  are  adverse  to  their  own  happiness,  as  well  as  to  the  happiness 
of  others,  will  at  times  awaken  a  natural  pang,  but  he  looks  forward  with 
gladdened  heart  to  that  glorious  period  when  justice  shall  have  established 
the  universal  fraternity  of  love.  These  soul-ennobling  views  bestow  the  vir- 
tues which  they  anticipate.     He  whose  mind  is  habitually  impressed  with 

*  Copied  from  his  MS.  as  delivered,  not  from  his  "  Conciones  ad  Populum" 
as  printed,  where  it  will  be  found  in  a  contracted  state. 

t  Muir,  Palmer,  and  Margarot. 


12  REMINISCENCES   OF 


them,  soars  above  the  present  state  of  humanity,  and  may  be  justly  said  to 
dwell  in  the  presence  of  the  Most  High.  Regarding  every  event,  as  he  that 
ordains  it,  evil  vanishes  from  before  him,  and  he  viev^rs  the  eternal  form  of 
universal  beauty." 

At  one  of  liis  lectures,  Mr.  Coleridge  amused  his  audience  by 
reciting  the  following  Letter  from  Liberty  to  his  dear  friend 
Famine  ;  the  effect  of  which  w^as  greatly^  heightened  by  Mr.  C.'s 
arch  manner  of  recitation.  It  should  be  understood  that  there 
was  at  this  time  a  great  scarcity  in  the  land. 

Dear  Famine, 

You  will  doubtless  be  surprised  at  receiving  a  petitionary  letter  from  a  per- 
fect stranger,  but,  Fas  est  vcl  ab  hoste.  All  whom  I  once  supposed  my  un- 
alterable friends,  I  have  found  unable  or  unwilling  to  assist  me.  I  first  ap- 
plied to  Gratitude,  entreating  her  to  whisper  into  the  ear  of  Majesty,  that  it 
was  I  who  had  placed  his  forefathers  on  the  throne  of  Great  Britain.  She  told 
me  that  she  had  frequently  made  the  attempt,  but  had  as  frequently  been  baf- 
fled by  Flattery  :  and,  that  I  might  not  doubt  the  truth  of  her  apology,  she 
led  me  (as  the  Spirit  did  the  prophet  Ezekiel)  "  to  the  door  of  the  Court,  and 
I  went  in  and  saw — and  behold!  every  form  of  creeping  things."  I  was 
however  somewhat  consoled,  when  I  heard  that  Religion  was  high  in  favor 
there,  and  possessed  great  influence.  I  myself  had  been  her  faithful  servant, 
and  always  found  her  my  best  protectress  :  her  service  being  indeed  perfect 
freedom.  Accordingly,  in  full  confidence  of  success,  I  entered  her  mansion, 
but,   alas  !  instead  of  my  kind  mistress,   horror-struck,   I  beheld  a  painted, 

patched-up  old .     She  was  arrayed  in  purple  and  scarlet  color,   and 

decked  with  gold  and  precious  stones  and  pearls,  and  on  her  forehead  was 
written  "  Mystery."  I  shrieked,  for  I  knew  her  to  be  the  dry-nurse  of  that 
detested  Imp,  Despotism. 

I  next  addressed  myself  to  Prudence,  and  earnestly  besought  her  to  plead 
my  cause  to  the  Ministers  ;  to  urge  the  distresses  of  the  lower  orders,  and  my 
fears  lest,  so  distressed,  they  should  forget  their  obedience.  For  the  prophet 
Isaiah  had  informed  me  "  that  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  when  the  people 
shall  be  hungry,  they  shall  fret  themselves  and  curse  the  kinor,"  The  grave 
matron  heard  me,  and,  shaking  her  head,  learnedly  replied,  "  Q^iios  Deus  vult 
perdere  dementa!^  Again  I  besought  her  to  speak  to  the  rich  men  of  the 
nation,  concerning  Ministers,  of  whom  it  might  soon  become  illegal  even  to 
complain — of  long  and  ruinous  wars,  and  whether  theij  must  not  bear  the 
damage.  All  this,  quoth  Prudence,  I  have  repeatedly  urged,  but  a  sly  im- 
postor named  Expedience  has  usurped  my  name,  and  struck  such  a  panic 
of  property,  as  hath  steeled  the  hearts  of  the  wealthy,  and  palsied  their  intel- 
lects. Lastly  I  applied  to  Conscience.  She  informed  me  that  she  was  in- 
deed a  perfect  ventriloquist,  and  could  throw  her  voice  into  any  place  she 
liked,  but  that  she  was  seldom  attended  to  unless  when  she  spoke  out  of  the 
pocket. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  13 

Thus  baffled  and  friendless,  I  was  about  to  depart,  and  stood  a  fearful 
lingerer  on  the  isle  which  I  had  so  dearly  loved — when  tidings  were  brought 
me  of  your  approach.  I  found  myself  impelled  by  a  power  superior  to  me  to 
build  my  last  hopes  on  you.  Liberty,  the  Mothe?.  of  Plentv,  calls  Famine 
to  her  aid.  O  Famine,  most  eloquent  Goddess !  plead  thou  my  cause.  I  in 
the  meantime,  will  pray  fervently  that  Heaven  may  unstop  the  ears  of  her 
Vicegerent,  so  that  ihey  may  Usten  to  your  first  pleadings,  while  yet  your 
voice  is  faint  and  distant,  and  your  counsels  peaceable. 

"  I  remain  your  distressed  suppliant, 

LIBERTY. 

The  following  is  the  prospectus,  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  series  of 
Political  lectures.      ^ 

S.  T.  Coleridge  proposes  to  give,  in  Six  Lectures,  a  comparative  view  of 
the  English  Rebellion  under  Charles  the  First,  and  the  French  Revolution. 

The  subjects  of  the  proposed  Lectures  are, 
First.     The  distinguished  marks  of  the  French  and  English  character,  with 

their  probable  causes.     The  national  circumstances  precursive  to — 1st,  the 

English  Rebellion. — 2d,  the  French  Revolution. 
Second.     The  Liberty  of  the  Press.     Literature  ;   its   Revolutionary  powers. 

Comparison  of  the  English,  with  the  French  Political  Writers,  at  the  time 

of   the   several    Revolutions.      Milton.       Sydney.      Harrington. — Brissot. 

Sieyes.     Mirabeau.     Thomas  Paine. 
Third.     The  Fanaticism   of  the  first  English  and  French   Revolutionists. 

EngUsh  Sectaries.     French  Parties.     Feuillans.     Girondists.     Faction  of 

Hebert.     Jacobins.     Moderants.     Royalists. 
Fourth.     1st,  Characters  of  Charles  the  First,  and  Louis  the  Sixteenth.     2d, 

of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  the  present  Empress  of  Russia.     3d,  Life  and 

Character  of  Essex  and  Fayette. 
Fifth.     Oliver  Cromwell,  and  Robespierre. — Cardinal  Mazarine,  and  William 

Pitt. — Dundas,  and  Barrere. 
Sixth. — On  Revolution  in  general. — Its  moral  causes,  and  probable  effects  on 

the  Revolutionary  People,  and  surrounding  nations. 

It  is  intended  that  the  Lectures  should  be  given  once  a  week  ;  on  Tuesday 
Evenings,  at  8  o'clock,  at  the  Assembly  Coffee  House,  on  the  Quay.  The 
First  Lecture,  on  Tuesday,  June  23d,  1795.  As  the  author  wishes  to  insure 
an  audience  adequate  to  the  expenses  of  the  room,  he  has  prepared  subscrip- 
tion tickets  for  the  whole  course,  price  Six  ShilUngs,  which  may  be  had  at 
the  Lecture  Room,  or  of  Mr.  Cottle,  or  Mr.  Reed,  Booksellers. 

Mr.  Coleridge's  Theological  lectures  succeeded,  of  which  the 
following  is  the  prospectus. 

Six  Lectures  will  be  given  by  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  on  Revealed  Re« 
ligion,  its  Corruptions,  and  its  Political  Views. 


14  REMINISCENCES    OF 


These  Lectures  are  intended  for  two  classes  of  men,  Christians  and  Infidels ; 
to  the  former,  that  they  be  able  to  give  a  reason  for  the  hope  that  is  in  them ; 
to  the  latter,  tliat  they  may  not  determine  against  Christianity,  from  argu- 
ments applicable  to  its  corruptions  only. 

The  subjects  of  the  First  Lkcture,  are— The  Origin  of  Evil.  The 
Necessity  of  Revelation  deduced  from  the  Nature  of  man.  An  Examination 
and  Defence  of  the  Mosaic  Dispensation. 

Second.— The  Sects  of  Philosophy,  and  the  Popular  Superstitions  of  the 
Gentile  World,  from  tlie  earliest  times  to  the  Birth  of  Christ. 

Third. — Concerning  the  Time  of  the  Appearance  of  Christ.  The  Internal 
Evidences  of  Christianity.     The  External  Evidences  of  Christianity. 

Fourth. — The  External  Evidences  of  Christianity  continued.  Ansv^ers  to 
Popular  and  Philosophical  objections.  • 

Fifth. — The  Corruptions  of  Christianity,  in  Doctrines.  Political  AppU- 
cation. 

Sixth. — The  grand  Political  Views  of  Christianity — far  beyond  other  Re- 
ligions, and  even  Sects  of  Philosophy.  The  Friend  of  Civil  Freedom.  The 
probable  state  of  Society  and  Governments,  if  all  men  were  Christians. 

Tickets  to  be  had  of  Mr.  Cottle,  Bookseller. 

Sometimes  a  single  Lecture  was  given.  The  following  is  an 
Advertisement  of  one  of  them. 

To-morrow  Evening,  Tuesday,  June  16th,  1795,  S.  T.  Colendge  will  de- 
liver (by  particular  desire)  a  Lecture  on  the  Slave  Trade,  and  the  duties  that 
result  from  its  continuance. 

To  begin  at  8  o'clock,  at  the  Assembly  Coffee-house,  on  the  Gtuay.  Admit- 
tance, One  Shilling. 

It  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  all  three  of  my  young  friends, 
in  that  day  of  excitement,  felt  a  detestation  of  the  French  war 
then  raging,  and  a  hearty  sympathy  with  the  efforts  made  in 
France  to  obtain  political  ameliorations.  Almost  every  young  and 
unprejudiced  mind  participated  in  this  feeling  ;  and  Muir,  and 
Palmer,  and  Margorot,  were  regarded  as  martyrs  in  the  holy 
cause  of  freedom.  The  successive  enormities,  however,  perpe- 
trated in  France  and  Switzerland  by  the  French,  tended  to  mod- 
erate their  enthusiastic  politics,  and  progressively  to  produce  that 
effect  on  them  which  extended  also  to  so  many  of  the  soberest 
friends  of  rational  freedom.  Mr.  Coleridge's  zeal  on  these  ques- 
tions was  by  far  the  most  conspicuous,  as  w^ill  appear  by  some  of 
his  Sonnets,  and  particularly  by  his  Poem  of  "  Fire,  Famine,  and 
Slaughter ;"  though  written  some  considerable  time  after.    When 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  15 

he  read  this  Poem  to  me,  it  was  with  so  much  jocularity  as  to 
convince  me  that,  without  bitterness,  it  was  designed  as  a  mere 
joke. 

In  conformity  with  my  determination  to  state  occurrences, 
plainly,  as  they  arose,  I  must  here  mention  that  strange  as  it  may 
appear  in  Pantisocritans,  I  observed  at  this  time  a  marked  cool- 
ness between  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Robert  Lovell,  so  inauspicious 
in  those  about  to  establish  a  "  Fraternal  Colony  ;"  and,  in  the 
result,  to  renovate  the  whole  face  of  society  !  They  met  without 
speaking,  and  consequently  appeared  as  strangers.  I  asked 
Mr.  C.  what  it  meant.  He  replied,  "  Lovell,  who  at  first,  did  all 
in  his  power  to  promote  my  connection  with  Miss  Fricker,  now 
opposes  our  union."  He  continued,  "  I  said  to  him,  '  Lovell !  you 
are  a  villain  !'  "  "  Oh,"  I  replied,  "  you  are  quite  mistaken. 
Lovell  is  an  honest  fellow,  and  is  proud  in  the  hope  of  having 
you  for  a  brother-in-law.  Rely  on  it  he  only  wishes  you  from 
prudential  motives  to  delay  your  union."  In  a  few -days  I  had 
the  happiness  of  seeing  them  as  sociable  as  ever. 

This  is  the  last  time  poor  Robert  Lovell's  name  will  be  men- 
tioned in  this  work,  as  living.  He  went  to  Salisbury,  caught  a 
fever,  and,  in  eagerness  to  reach  his  family,  travelled  when  he 
ought  to  have  lain  by  ;  reached  his  home,  and  died !  We  attended 
his  funeral,  and  dropt  a  tear  over  his  grave  ! 

Mr.  Coleridge,  though  at  this  time  embracing  every  topic  of 
conversation,  testified  a  partiality  for  a  few,  which  might  be 
called  stock  subjects.  Without  noticing  his  favorite  Pantisocracy, 
(which  was  an  everlasting  theme  of  the  laudatory,)  he  generally 
contrived,  either  by  direct  amalgamation  or  digression,  to  notice 
in  the  warmest  encomiastic  language,  Bishop  Berkeley,  David 
Hartley,  or  Mr.  Bowles ;  whose  sonnets  he  delighted  in  reciting. 
He  once  told  me,  that  he  believed,  by  his  constant  recommenda- 
tion, he  had  sold  a  whole  edition  of  some  works ;  particularly 
amongst  the  fresh-men  of  Cambridge,  to  whom,  whenever  he 
found  access,  he  urged  the  purchase  of  three  works,  indispensable 
to  all  who  wished  to  excel  in  sound  reasoning,  or  a  correct  taste ; — 
Simpson's  EucHd ;  Hartley  on  Man  ;  and  Bowles's  Poems. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  when  reflection  had  rendered  his 
mind  more  mature,  he  appeared  to  renounce  the  fanciful  and  brain- 


16  REMINISCENCES   OF 


bewildering  system  of  Berkeley  ;  whilst  he  sparingly  extolled 
Hartley ;  and  was  almost  silent  respecting  Mr.  Bowles.  I  noticed 
a  marked  change  in  his  commendation  of  Mr.  B.  from  the  time 
he  paid  that  man  of  genius  a  visit.  Whether  their  canons  of 
criticisms  were  different,  or  that  the  personal  enthusiasm  was  not 
mutual ;  or  whether  there  was  a  diversity  in  poUtical  views ; 
whatever  the  cause  was,  an  altered  feeling  towards  that  gentle- 
man was  manifested  after  his  visit,  not  so  much  expressed  by 
words,  as  by  his  subdued  tone  of  applause. 

The  reflux  of  the  tide  had  not  yet  commenced,  and  Pantisocracy 
was  still  Mr.  Coleridge's  favorite  theme  of  discourse,  and  the 
banks  of  the  Susquehannah  the  only  refuge  for  permanent  repose. 
It  will  excite  great  surprise  in  the  reader  to  understand,  that 
Mr.  C.'s  cooler  friends  could  not  ascertain  that  he  had  received 
any  specific  infoimation  respecting  this  notable  river.  *'  It  was  a 
grand  river  ;"  but  there  were  many  other  grand  and  noble  rivers 
in  America ;  (the  Land  of  Rivers  !)  and  the  preference  given  to 
the  Susquehannah,  seemed  almost  to  rise  solely  from  its  imposing 
name,  which,  if  not  classical,  was  at  least  poetical ;  and  it  proba- 
bly by  mere  accident  became  the  centre  of  all  his  pleasurable 
associations.  Had  this  same  river  been  called  the  Miramichi  or 
the  Irrawaddy,  it  would  have  been  despoiled  of  half  its  charms, 
and  have  sunk  down  into  a  vulgar  stream,  the  atmosphere  of 
which  might  have  suited  well  enough  Russian  boors,  but  which 
would  have  been  pestiferous  to  men  of  letters. 

The  strong  hold  which  the  Susquehannah  had  taken  on  Mr. 
Coleridge's  imagination  may  be  estimated  by  the  foUo^ving  lines, 
in  his  Monody  on  Chatterton. 

•'  O,  Chatterton  !  that  thou  wert  yet  alive ; 

Sure  thou  would' st  spread  the  canvas  to  the  gale, 
And  love  with  us  the  tinkling  team  to  drive 

O'er  peaceful  freedom's  undivided  dale  ; 
And  we  at  sober  eve  would  round  thee  throng, 
Hanging  enraptured  on  thy  stately  song! 
And  greet  with  smiles  the  young-eyed  Poesy 
All  deftly  masked,  as  hoar  Anticiuity. 
Alas,  vain  phantasies !  the  fleeting  brood 
Of  woe  self-solaced  in  her  dreamy  mood ! 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.   SOUTHEY.  17 

Yet  I  will  love  to  follow  the  sweet  dream, 
Where  Susquehannah  pours  his  untamed  stream, 
And  on  some  hill,  whose  forest-frowning  side 
Waves  o'er  the  murmurs  of  his  calmer  tide ; 
And  I  will  build  a  cenotaph  to  thee. 
Sweet  harper  of  time-shrouded  minstrelsy! 
And  there  soothed  sadly  hy  the  dirgeful  wind, 
Muse  on  the  sore  ills  I  had  left  behind." 

In  another  poem  which  appeared  only  in  the  first  edition,  a 
reference  is  again  made  to  the  American  "  undivided  dell,'*  as 
follows : 

TO  W.  J.  H. 

WHILE    PLAYING    ON    HIS    FLUTE. 

Hush !  ye  clamorous  cares  !  be  mute. 

Again,  dear  Harmonist !  again, 
Through  the  hollow  of  thy  flute, 

Breathe  that  passion-warbled  strain  : 

Till  memory  each  form  shall  bring 

The  loveliest  of  her  shadowy  throng ; 
And  hope  that  soars  on  sky-lark  wing, 

Carol  wild  her  gladdest  song ! 

O  skill'd  with  magic  spell  to  roll 
The  thriUing  tones  that  concentrate  the  soul ! 
Breathe  through  thy  flute  those  tender  notes  again, 

While  near  thee  sits  the  chaste-eyed  maiden  mild ; 
And  bid  her  raise  the  poet's  kindred  strain 

In  soft  impassioned  voice,  correctly  wild, 

"  In  freedom's  undivided  dell. 
Where  toil  and  health,  with  mellowed  love  shall  dwell, 
Far  from  folly,  far  from  men, 
In  the  rude  romantic  glen. 
Up  the  cliff,  and  through  the  glade, 
Wand'ring  with  the  dear-lov'd  maid, 
I  shall  Hsten  to  the  lay. 
And  ponder  on  thee  far  away," 

Mr.  Coleridge  had  written  a  note  to  his  Monody  on  Chatterton, 
in  which  he  caustically  referred  to  Dean  Milles.  On  this  note 
being  shown  to  me,  I  remarked  that  Captain  Blake,  whom  he 
occasionally  met,  was  the  son-in-law  of  Dean  Milles.     **  What," 


18  REMINISCENCES   OF 

said  Z\Ir.  Coicridge,  •'  the  niaii  with  the  great  sword  ?"  "  The 
same,"  I  answered.  "  Then,"  said  Mr.  C.  Avith  an  assumed 
gravit}',  "  I  will  suppress  this  note  to  Chatterton  ;  the  fellow 
miglit  have  my  liead  off  before  I  am  avrare  !"  To  be  sm'e  there 
was  sometliing  ratlier  formidable  in  his  huge  dragoon's  sword, 
constantly  lattling  by  his  side  !  This  Captain  Blake  was  a  mem- 
ber of  tlie  Bristol  Corporation,  and  a  pleasant  man,  but  his  sword, 
worn  by  a  short  man,  appeared  prodigious ! — Mr.  C.  said,  ''  The 
sight  of  it  Avas  enough  to  set  half  a  dozen  poets  scampeiing  up 
Parnassus,  as  though  hunted  by  a  Avild  mastodon." 

In  examining  my  old  papers  I  found  this  identical  note  in  Mr. 
Coleridge's  handwriting,  and  which  is  here  given  to  the  reader ; 
suggesting  that  this  note,  like  the  Sonnet  to  Lord  Stanhope,  was 
written  in  that  portion  of  C.'s  life,  when  it  must  be  confessed,  he 
really  was  hot  with  the  French  Revolution.     Thus  he  begins  : 

By  tar  the  best  poem  on  the  subject  of  Chatterton,  is,  "  Neglected  Genius, 
or  Tributary  Stanzas  to  the  memory  of  the  unfortunate  Chatterton."  Written 
by  Rushton,  a  blind  sailor. 

Walpole  writes  thus :  "  All  the  House  of  Forgery  are  relations,  although  it 
be  but  just  to  Chattcrton's  memory  to  say,  that  his  poverty  never  made  him 
claim  kindred  with  the  more  enriching  branches ;  yet  he  who  could  so  ingen- 
iously counterfeit  styles,  and  the  writer  believes,  hands,  might  easily  have  been 
led  to  the  more  facile  imitation  of  Prose  Promissory  Notes!"  O,  ye  who 
honor  the  name  of  man,  rejoice  that  this  Walpole  is  called  a  Lord !  Milles, 
too,  the  editor  of  Rowley's  Poems,  a  priest ;  who  (though  only  a  Dean,  in 
dulness  and  malignity  was  most  episcopally  eminent)  foully  calumniated  him. 
An  owl  mangling  a  poor  dead  nightingale  !     Most  injured  Bard  ! 

"  To  him  alone  in  this  beniglited  age 
Was  that  diviner  inspiration  given 
Which  glows  in  Milton's,  and  in  Shakspeare's  page, 
The  pomp  and  prodigality  of  heaven !" 

Mr.  Soiithey's  course  of  Historical  Lectures,  comprised  the 
following  subjects,  as  expressed  in  his  prospectus. 

Robert  Soutbey,  of  Ballol  College,  Oxibrd,  proposes  to  read  a  course  of 
Historical  Lectures  in  the  following  order, 

1st.  Introductory :  on  the  origin  and  Progress  of  Society. 
2nd.  Legislation  of  Solon  and  Lycurgus. 

3rd.  State  of  Greece,  from  the  Persian  War  to  the  Dissolution  of  the 
Achaian  League. 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHED.  19 

4th,  Rise,  Progress,  and  Decline  of  the  Pvoman  Empire. 

5th.  Progress  of  Christianity. 

6th.  Manners  and  Irruptions  of  the  Northern  Nations.  Growth  of  the 
European  States.     Feudal  System. 

7th.  State  of  the  Eastern  Empire,  to  the  Capture  of  Constantinople  by  the 
Turks;  including  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  the  Mahommedan  Religion,  and 
the  Crusades. 

8th.  History  of  Europe,  to  the  Abdication  of  the  Empire  by  Charles  the 
Fifth. 

9th.  History  of  Europe,  to  the  Establishment  of  the  Independence  of 
Holland. 

10th.  State  of  Europe,  and  more  particularly  of  England,  from  the  Acces- 
sion of  Charles  the  First,  to  the  Revolution,  in  1688. 

11th.  Progress  of  the  Northern  States.  History  of  Europe  to  the  Ameri- 
can War. 

12th.  The  American  War. 

Tickets  for  the  whole  course,  10s.  6d.  to  be  had  of  Mr.  Cottle,  bookseller, 
High-Street. 

These  Lectures  of  Mr.  South ey  were  numerously  attended,  and 
their  (^composition  was  greatly  admired ;  exhibiting  as  they  did  a 
succinct  view  of  the  various  subjects  commented  upon,  so  as  to 
chain  the  hearers'  attention.  They  at  the  same  time  evinced  great 
self-possession  in  the  lecturer ;  a  peculiar  grace  in  the  delivery ; 
with  reasoning  so  judicious  and  acute,  as  to  excite  astonishment  in 
the  auditory  that  so  young  a  man  should  concentrate  so  rich  a 
fund  of  valuable  matter  in  lectures,  comparatively  so  brief,  and 
which  clearly  authorized  the  anticipation  of  his  future  eminence. 
From  this  statement  it  will  justly  be  inferred,  that  no  public  lec- 
turer could  have  received  stronger  proofs  of  approbation  than  Mr. 
S.  from  a  polite  and  discriminating  audience. 

Mr.  Coleridge  had  solicited  permission  of  Mr.  Southey,  to  deliver 
his  fourth  lecture,  "  On  the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Decline  of  the 
Roman  Empire,"  as  a  subject  to  which  he  had  devoted  much  at- 
tention. The  request  was  immediately  granted,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  third  lecture  it  was  formally  announced  to  the  audience,  that 
the  next  lecture  would  be  delivered  by  Mr.  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge, of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge. 

At  the  usual  hour  the  room  was  thronged.  The  moment  of 
commencement  arrived.  I^o  lecturer  appeared !  Patience  was 
preserved  for  a  quarter,  extending  to  half  an  hour ! — but  still  no 


20  REMINISCENCES   OF 


lecturer !  At  length  it  was  communicated  to  the  impatient  as- 
semblage, that  a  circumstance,  exceedingly  to  be  regretted  !  would 
prevent  Mr.  Coleridge  from  giving  his  lecture  that  evening,  as  in- 
tended. 8ome  few  present  learned  the  truth,  but  the  major  part 
of  the  company  retired  not  very  well  pleased,  and  under  the  im- 
pression that  Mr.  C.  had  either  broken  his  leg,  or  that  some  severe 
family  affliction  had  occurred.  Mr.  C.'s  rather  habitual  absence 
of  mind,  with  the  little  importance  he  generally  attached  to  en- 
gagements,^ renders  it  likely  that  at  this  very  time  he  might  have 
been  found  at  No.  48,  College-Street,  composedly  smoking  his 
pipe,  and  lost  in  profound  musings  on  his  divine  Susquehannah  ! 

Incidents  of  the  most  trifling  nature  must  sometimes  be  nar- 
rated, when  they  form  connecting  links  with  events  of  more  con- 
sequence. 

Wishing  to  gratify  my  two  young  friends  and  their  ladies  elect 
Avith  a  pleasant  excursion,  I  invited  them  to  accompany  me  in  a 
visit  to  the  Wye,  including  Piercefield  and  Tintern  Abbey ;  ob- 
jects new  lo  us  all.  It  so  happened  the  day  we  were  to  set  off 
was  that  immediately  following  the  woful  disappointment !  but 
here  all  was  punctuality.  It  was  calculated  that  the  proposed  ob- 
jects might  be  accomplished  in  two  days,  so  as  not  to  interfere 
with  the  Friday  evening's  lecture,  which  Mr.  Southey  had  now 
wisely  determined  to  deliver  himself. 

The  morning  was  fine.     The  party  of  five  all  met  in  high  spirits, 

*  An  eminent  medical  man  in  Bristol,  who  greatly  admired  Mr.  Coleridge's 
conversation  and  genius,  on  one  occasion,  invited  Mr.  C.  to  dine  with  him,  on 
a  given  day.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  this  gentleman,  wilhng  to 
gratify  his  friends  with  an  introduction  to  Mr.  C.  invited  a  large  assemblage, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  meeting  him,  and  made  a  splendid  entertainment, 
anticipating  the  deliglit  which  would  he  universally  felt  from  Mr.  C.'s  far- 
famed  eloquence.  It  unfortunately  happened  that  Mr.  Coleridge  had  forgot- 
ten all  about  it !  and  the  gentleman,  [with  his  guests,  after  waiting  till  the  hot 
became  cold]  under  his  mortification  consoled  himself  by  the  resolve,  never 
again  to  subject  himself  to  a  like  disaster.  No  explanation  of  apology  on  my 
part  could  soothe  the  choler  of  this  disciple  of  Galen.  A  dozen  subscribers  to 
his  lectures  fell  off  from  this  slip  of  his  memory. 

"  Sloth  jaundiced  all !  and  from  my  graspless  hand 
Drop  friendship's  precious  pearls,  like  hour-glass  sand. 
I  weep,  yet  stoop  not !  the  faint  anguish  flows, 
A  dreamy  pang  iu  morning's  feverish  doze." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  21 

anticipating  unmingled  delight  in  surveying  objects  and  scenery, 
scarcely  to  be  surpassed  in  the  three  kingdoms.  We  proceeded 
to  the  Old  Passage :  crossed  the  Severn,  and  arrived  at  the  Beau- 
fort Arms,  Chepstow,  time  enough  to  partake  of  a  good  dinner, 
which  one  of  the  company  noticed  Homer  himself  had  pronounced 
to  be  no  bad  thing  :  a  sentiment  in  which  we  all  concurred,  admir- 
ing his  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature  !  But  prior  to  our 
repast,  we  visited  the  fine  old  Castle,  so  intimately  connected  with 
by-gone  days ;  and  as  soon  as  possible  we  purposed  to  set  off  to- 
ward the  Abbey,  distant  about  six  or  seven  miles ;  taking  Pierce- 
field  in  our  way. 

Proceeding  on  my  principle  of  impartial  narration,  I  must  here 
state,  that,  after  dinner,  an  unpleasant  altercation  occurred  be- 
tween— no  other  than  the  two  Pantisocritans  !  When  feelings  are 
accumulated  in  the  heart,  the  tongue  will  give  them  utterance, 
Mr.  Southey,  whose  regular  habits  scarcely  rendered  it  a  virtue 
in  him,  never  to  fail  in  an  engagement,  expressed  to  Mr.  Coleridge 
his  deep  feelings  of  regret,  that  his  audience  should  have  been  dis- 
appointed on  the  preceding  evening ;  reminding  him  that  unless 
he  had  determined  punctually  to  fulfil  his  voluntary  engagement 
he  ought  not  to  have  entered  upon  it.  Mr.  C.  thought  the  delay 
of  the  lecture  of  little  or  no  consequence.  This  excited  a  remon- 
strance, which  produced  a  reply.  At  first  I  interfered  with  a  few 
conciliatory  words,  which  were  unavailing ;  and  these  two  friends, 
about  to  exhibit  to  the  world  a  glorious  example  of  the  eflfects  of 
concord  and  sound  principles,  with  an  exemption  from  all  the  self- 
ish and  unsocial  passions,  fell,  alas  !  into  the  common  lot  of  hu- 
manity, and  in  so  doing  must  have  demonstrated,  even  to  them- 
selves, the  rope  of  sand  to  which  they  had  confided  their  desti- 


nies 


In  unspeakable  concern  and  surprise  I  retired  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  room,  and  heard  with  dismay  the  contention  continued,  if 
not  extending ;  for  now  the  tAvo  young  ladies  entered  into  the  dis- 
pute, (on  adverse  sides,  as  might  be  supposed,)  each  confirming  or 
repelling  the  arguments  of  the  belligerents.  A  little  cessation  in 
the  storm  afforded  me  the  opportunity  of  stepping  forward  and  re- 
marking that,  however  much  the  disappointment  was  to  be  regret- 
ted, it  was  an  evil  not  likely  again  to  occur,  (Mr.  S.  shook  his 


22  REMir^ISCENCES    OP 

head,)  and  that  the  wisest  way  was  to  forget  the  past  and  to  re- 
member only  the  pleasant  objects  before  us.  In  this  opinion  the 
ladies  concurred,  when  placing  a  hand  of  one  of  the  dissentients  in 
that  of  the  other,  the  hearty  salutation  went  round,  and  with  our 
accustomed  spirits,  we  prepared  once  more  for  Piercefield  and  the 
Abbey. 

Being  an  indifferent  walker  (from  a  former  dislocation  of  my 
ankle,  arising  out  of  a  gig  accident)  I  had  engaged  a  horse,  while 
the  four  pedestrians  set  forward,  two  on  each  side  of  my  Rosi- 
nante.  After  quitting  the  extensive  walks  of  Piercefield,  we  pro- 
ceeded toward  that  part  of  the  road,  where  we  were  to  turn  off  to 
the  right,  leading  down  to  Tintern  Abbey.  We  had  been  delayed 
so  long  at  Chepstow,  and  afterward,  by  various  enchanting  scenes, 
particularly  that  from  the  Wind-cliff',  that  we  were  almost  be- 
nighted, before  we  were  aware.  We  recalled  all  our  minute  di- 
rections. Every  object  corresponded.  A  doubt  expressed,  at  a 
most  unlucky  moment,  whether  we  were  to  turn  to  the  right,  or 
to  the  left,  threw  ice  into  some  hearts ;  but  at  length  we  all  con- 
curred, that  it  was  to  the  right,  and  that  this  must  be  the  road. 

These  complicated  deliberations  allowed  the  night  rapidly  to 
advance,  but  the  grand  preliminaries  being  settled,  we  approached 
the  "road,"  and  strove  to  penetrate  with  our  keenest  vision  into 
its  dark  recesses.  A  road  !  this  it  could  not  be.  It  was  a  gross 
misnomer  !  It  appeared  to  our  excited  imaginations,  a  lane,  in 
the  tenth  scale  of  consanguinity  to  a  road  ;  a  mere  chasm  between 
lofty  trees,  where  the  young  moon  strove  in  vain  to  dart  a  ray  1 
To  go  or  not  to  go,  that  was  the  question !  A  new  consultation 
was  determined  upon,  what  proceeding  should  be  adopted  in  so 
painful  a  dilemma.  At  length,  with  an  accession  of  courage 
springing  up  as  true  courage  always  does  in  the  moment  of  ex- 
tremity, we  resolutely  determined  to  brave  all  dangers  and  boldly 
to  enter  on  the  road,  lane,  or  what  it  was,  where  perchance,  Cad- 
wallader,  or  Taliesen,  might  have  trodden  before ! 

On  immerging  into  the  wood,  for  such  it  was,  extending  the 
whole  downward  way  to  Tintern,  we  all  suddenly  found  ourselves 
deprived  of  sight ;  obscurity  aggravated  almost  into  pitchy  dark- 
ness !  We  could  see  nothing  distinctly  whilst  we  floundered  over 
Btones,  embedded  as  they  appeared  in  their  everlasting  sockets. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  23 

from  the  days  of  JSToah.  The  gurghng  of  the  unseen  stream,  down 
in  the  adjacent  gully,  (which  we  perchance  might  soon  be  found, 
reluctantly  to  visit !)  never  sounded  so  discordant  before.  Having 
some  respect  for  my  limbs  (with  no  bone-setter  near)  I  dismounted, 
resolving  to  lead  my  steed,  who  trembled  as  though  conscious  of 
the  perilous  expedition  on  which  he  had  entered.  Mr.  Coleridge 
who  had  been  more  accustomed  to  rough  riding  than  myself,  upon 
understanding  that  I  through  covrardice  had  forsaken  the  saddle, 
without  speaking  a  word  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  mount- 
ing, determined  to  brave  at  all  hazards,  the  dangers  of  the  cam- 
paign. 

Our  General  on  his  charger  floundered  on  before  us  over  chan- 
nels that  the  storms  had  made,  and  the  upstarting  fragments  of 
rocks  that  seemed  confederated  to  present  an  insurmountable  bar- 
rier to  every  rash  and  roving  wight.  AVe  were  in  a  forlorn  con- 
dition !  and  never  before  did  v/e  so  feelingly  sympathize  with  the 
poor  babes  in  the  wood ;  trusting,  in  the  last  extremity,  (should  it 
occur,)  a  few  kind  robins  with  their  sylvan  pall,  would  honor  also 
our  obsequies.  This  kind  of  calming  ulterior  hope  might  do  very 
well  for  poets,  but  it  was  not  quite  so  consolatory  to  the  ladies, 
who,  with  all  their  admiration  of  disinterested  pity,  wished  to  keep 
off  the  dear  tender-hearted  robins  a  little  longer. 

These  desponding  thoughts  were  of  short  continuance,  for  wheth- 
er the  moon  had  emerged  from  clouds,  or  that  our  sight  had  be- 
come strengthened  by  exercise,  we  rejoiced  now  in  being  able  to 
see  a  little,  although  it  might  be  to  reveal  only  sights  of  woe.  Mr. 
Southey  marched  on  like  a  pillar  of  strength,  with  a  lady  pressing 
on  each  arm,  while  the  relater  lagged  in  the  rear,  without  even  a 
pilgrim's  staff  to  sustain  his  tottering  steps.  Our  condition  might 
have  been  more  forlorn,  had  not  Mr.  Coleridge  from  before  cheered 
on  his  associates  in  misfortune  ;  and  intrepidity  produces  intrepidity. 

The  deepest  sorrow  often  admits  of  some  alleviation,  and  at 
present  our  source  of  beguilement  was  to  invent  some  appropriate 
name,  in  designation  of  this  most  horrible  channel  of  communica- 
tion between  man  and  man.  Various  acrimonious  epithets  were 
propounded,  but  they  all  wanted  an  adequate  measure  of  caus- 
ticity ;  when  Mr.  Southey,  censuring  in  us  our  want  of  charity, 
and  the  rash  spirit  that  loaded  with  abuse  objects  which  if  beheld 


24  REMINISCENCES   OF 


in  noon-day  might  be  allied  even 'to  the  picturesque,  proposed  that 
our  pathway,  whatever  it  was,  should  simply  be  called — ''  Bow- 
ling-green-lane." 

We  should  have  smiled  assent,  but  w^e  had  just  arrived  at  a  spot 
that  overshadowed  every  countenance  with  tenfold  seriousness ! 
This  was  no  moment  for  gratuitous  triflings.  We  had  arrived  at  a 
spot,  where  there  was  just  light  enough  to  descry  three  roads,  in 
this  bosom  of  the  wood,  diverging  off  in  different  directions !  two 
of  them  must  be  collaterals ;  and  to  fix  on  the  one  which  was  hon- 
est, where  all  had  equal  claims  to  bad  pre-eminence,  exceeded  oiir 
divining  power.  Each  awhile  ruminated  in  silence  ;  reflecting  that 
we  were  far  from  the  habitations  of  man,  with  darkness  only  not 
intense  around  us  !  We  now  shouted  aloud,  in  the  faint  hope  that 
some  solitary  w^oodman  might  hear,  and  come  to  our  relief.  The 
shrill  voices  of  the  ladies,  in  the  stillness  of  night,  formed  the  es- 
sence of  harmony.  All  w^as  silence  !  No  murmur  !  No  response  ! 
The  three  lanes  lay  before  us.  If  we  pursued  one,  it  might,  by 
the  next  morning,  conduct  us  safe  back  to  Chepstow ;  and  if  w^e 
confided  in  the  other,  it  might  lead  us  in  due  time,  half-way  to- 
ward Ragland  Castle  !  What  w^as  to  be  done  ?  One  in  the  com- 
pany now  remarked,  "  Of  what  service  is  it  to  boast  a  pioneer,  if 
we  do  not  avail  ourselves  of  his  services  ?"  Mr.  Coleridge  re- 
ceived the  hint,  and  set  off*  up  one  of  the  lanes  at  his  swiftest  speed, 
namely,  a  cautious  creep  ;  whilst  we  four  stood  musing  on  the  wide 
extent  of  himaan  vicissitudes  !  A  few  hours  before,  surrounded 
by  a  plethora  of  enjoyments,  and  now  desponding  and  starving  in 
the  depth  of  what  appeared  an  interminable  forest.  To  augment 
our  trouble,  fresh  anxieties  arose !  From  Mr.  Coleridge's  long 
absence,  we  now  almost  feared  whether  hard  necessity  might  not 
force  us  to  go  in  search  of  our  way-bewildered  or  quagmired  com- 
panion. 

To  our  great  joy,  we  now  faintly  heard,  in  the  stillness  of  night, 
the  horse's  hoofs  sliding  over  the  loose  stones  !  The  sound  drew 
nearer.  Mr.  Coleridge  approached  and  pensively  said,  that  could 
not  be  the  way,  for  it  led  to  an  old  quarry  which  the  quick  sight 
of  his  steed  discovered  just  in  time  to  save  both  their  necks  !  Mr. 
C.  was  next  ordered  instantly  to  explore  one  of  the  other  two  omi- 
nous lanes ;  when,  like  a  well-disciplined  orderly  man,  he  set  off 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  25 

gallantly  on  his  new  commission.  After  waiting  a  time,  which  in 
our  state  of  suspense  might  almost  be  called  a  period,  he  leisurely 
returned,  significantly  saying,  that  neither  man  nor  beast  could 
pass  that  way  !  rubbing  his  thorn-smitten  cheek.  ISTow  came  the 
use  of  the  syllogism,  in  its  simplest  form.  ^^If  the  right  road 
must  be  A,  B,  or  C,  and  A  and  B  were  wrong,  then  C  must  be 
right."  Under  this  conviction,  we  marched  boldly  on,  without 
further  solicitude  or  exploration,  and  at  length  joyfully  reached — 
Tintern  Abbey ! 

On  arriving  at  this  celebrated  place,  to  which  so  many  travel- 
lers resort,  (thanks  nov/  to  his  Grace  of  Beaufort  for  a  better  road 
than  ours,)  the  first  inquiry  that  hunger  taught  us  to  make  of  a 
countryman,  was  for  the  hotel.  "  Hotel !  Hotel !  sir  ?  Oh,  the 
sign  of  the  Tobacco  Pipe  !  There  it  is  over  the  way."  Rusticity 
and  comfort  often  go  together.  We  entered  the  inn,  homely  as 
it  was,  quite  certain  that  any  transition  must  be  paradisaical,  com- 
pared with  our  late  hopeless  condition. 

After  supper,  I  proposed  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  darkness,  and 
to  inspect  the  Abbey  by  torch-light.  This  being  acceded  to,  we 
all  set  oflp  to  view  the  beautiful  but  mouldering  edifice,  where,  by 
an  artificial  light,  the  ruins  might  present  a  new  aspect,  and,  in 
dim  grandeur,  assist  the  laboring  imagination.  At  the  instant  the 
huge  doors  unfolded,  the  horned  moon  appeared  between  the 
opening  clouds,  and  shining  through  the  grand  window  in  the  dis- 
tance. It  was  a  delectable  moment ;  not  a  little  augmented  by 
the  unexpected  green  sward  that  covered  the  whole  of  the  floor, 
and  the  long  forgotten  tombs  beneath ;  whilst  the  gigantic  ivies, 
in  their  rivalry,  almost  concealed  the  projecting  and  dark  turrets 
and  eminences,  reflecting  back  the  lustre  of  the  torch  below.  In 
this  season,  which  ought  to  have  been  consecrated  to  reflection 
and  silence,  the  daws,  nestling  in  their  abodes  of  desolation,  aroused 
from  their  repose  by  the  unusual  glare,  sailed  over  our  heads  in 
sable  multitudes  that  added  depth  to  the  darkness  of  the  sky, 
while,  in  their  hoarsest  maledictions,  they  seemed  to  warn  off*  the 
intruders  on  "  their  ancient  solitary  reign." 

On  returning  late  to  the  inn,  I  informed  my  companions,  that 
there  was  at  no  great  distance  a  large  iron  foundry,  never  seen  to 
perfection  but  at  night,  and  proposed  our  visiting  it.     Mr.  Cole- 


2G  REMINISCENCES    OF 


ridge  felt  downright  horror  at  the  thought  of  being  again  moved ; 
considering  that  he  had  had  quite  enough  exercise  for  one  day, 
and  infinitely  preferring  the  fire  of  his  host  to  the  forge  of  the 
Cyclops.  The  ladies  also  rather  shrunk  from  encountering  a 
second  night  expedition ;  but  Mr.  Southey  cordially  approved  the 
suggestion,  and  v/e  ushered  forth,  in  the  dreariness  of  midnight, 
to  behold  this  real  spectacle  of  sublimity  !  Our  ardor,  indeed,  was 
a  little  cooled  when,  by  the  glimmering  of  the  stars,  we  perceived 
a  dark  expanse  stretched  by  our  path, — an  ugly  mill-pond,  by  the 
side  of  which  we  groped,  preserving,  as  well  as  w^e  could,  a  re- 
spectful distance,  and  entering  into  a  mutual  compact  that  if  (after 
all)  one  should  fall  in,  the  other  should  do  all  that  in  him  lay  to 
pull  him  out. 

But  I  leave  further  extraneous  impositions  on  the  reader's  at- 
tention,— the  Wye,  and  other  etceteras, — briefly  to  remark,  that  we 
safely  returned  the  next  day,  after  an  excursion  where  the  reality 
exceeded  the  promise  :  and  it  may  be  added,  quite  in  time  to  ena- 
ble Mr.  Southey  to  prepare  for,  and  deliver  his  .Lecture,  "  on  the 
Rise,  Fall,  and  Decline  of  the  Roman  Empire."  Mr.  Coleridge 
was  not  present. 

The  publication  of  Mr.  C.'s  volume  of  Poems  having  been  at- 
tended w4th  some  rather  peculiar  circumstances,  to  detail  them  a 
little  may  amuse  the  reader.  On  my  expressing  to  him  a  w^sh  to 
begin  the  printing  as  early  as  he  found  it  convenient,  he  sent  me 
the  following  note. 

"  My  dear  Friend, 

The  printer  may  depend  on  copy  on  Monday  morning,  and  if 
he  can  work  a  sheet  a  day,  he  shall  have  it. 

S.  T.  C." 

A  day  or  two  after,  and  before  the  receipt  of  the  copy,  I  re- 
ceived from  Mr.  C.  the  following  cheerful  note. 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

By  the  thick  smoke  that  precedes  the  volcanic  eruptions  of  Etna, 
Vesuvius,  and  Hecla,  I  feel  an  impulse  to  fumigate,  at  [now]  25 
College- Street,  one  pair  of  stairs  room  ;  yea,  with  our  Oronoko, 
and  if  thou  wilt  send  me  by  the  bearer,  four  pipes,  I  will  write  a 
panegyrical  epic  poem  upon  thee,  with  as  many  books  as  there 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  27 

are  letters  in  thy  name.  Moreover,  if  thou  wilt  send  me  "  the 
copybook,"  I  hereby  bind  myself,  by  to-morrow  morning,  to  write 
out  enough  copy  for  a  sheet  and  a  half. 

God  bless  you ! 
July  31st,  1795.  S.  T.  C." 

This  promising  commencement  was  soon  interrupted  by  suc- 
cessive and  long-continued  delays.  The  permission  I  had  given 
to  anticipate  payment  was  remembered  and  complied  with,  before 
the  work  went  to  the  press.  These  delays  I  httle  heeded,  but  they 
were  not  quite  so  acceptable  to  the  printer,  who  grievously  com- 
plained that  his  types,  and  his  leads,  and  his  forms,  were  locked 
up,  week  after  week,  to  his  great  detriment. 

Being  importuned  by  the  printer,  I  stated  these  circumstances 
to  Mr.  Coleridge  in  a  note,  expressed  in  what  I  thought  the  mild- 
est possible  way,  but  w^hich  excited,  it  appeared,  uncomfortable 
feelings  in  his  mind,  never  in  the  least  noticed  to  or  by  myself,  but 
evidenced  to  my  surprise,  by  the  following  passage  in  a  note  to 
Mr.  Wade. 

"  My  very  dear  Friend, 

%  -k  ^  %  ^ly,  Cottle  has  ever  conducted  himself  towards 
me  with  unbounded  kindness,  and  one  unkind  act,  no,  nor  twenty, 
can  obliterate  the  grateful  remembrance  of  it.  By  indolence,  and 
frequent  breach  of  promise,  I  had  deserved  a  severe  reproof  from 
Mm,  although  my  present  brain-crazing  circumstanc'es  rendered 
this  an  improper  time  for  it.     '^     '^     ^' 

S.  T.  C." 

I  continued  to  see  Mr.  Coleridge  every  day,  and  occasionally 
said  to  him,  smiling,  "  Well,  how  much  copy  ?"  ''  None,  to-day," 
was  the  general  reply,  ''  but  to-morrow  you  shall  have  some." 
To-morrow  produced,  if  any,  perhaps  a  dozen  lines  ;  and,  in  a  fa- 
vorable state  of  mind,  so  much,  it  might  be,  as  half  a  dozen  pages  : 
and  here  I  think  I  can  correctly  state,  that  Mr.  C.  had  repeated  to 
me  at  different  times  nearly  all  the  poems  contained  in  his  volume, 
except  the  ''  Religious  Musings,"  which  I  understood  to  be  wholly 
a  new  poem.  It  may  amuse  the  reader  to  receive  one  or  two 
more  of  Mr.  C.'s  little  apologies. 


28  REMINISCENCES    OF 


"  My  dear  Friend, 

The  printer  may  depend  on  copy  by  to-morrow. 

S.  T.  C." 

''  My  dear  Cottle, 

The  Religious  Musings  are  finished,  and  you  shall  have  them 
on  Thursday.  S.  T.  C." 

Sometimes  sickness  interfered. 
"  Dear  Cottle, 

A  devil,  a  very  devil,  has  got  possession  of  my  left  temple,  eye, 
cheek,  jaw,  throat,  and  shoulder.  I  cannot  see  you  this  evening. 
I  write  in  agony. 

Your  affectionate  Friend  and  Brother,  S.  T.  C." 

Sometimes  his  other  engagements  were  of  a  pressing  nature. 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

Shall  I  trouble  you  (I  being  over  the  mouth  and  nose,  in  doing 
something  of  importance,  at  Lovell's)  to  send  your  servant  into 
the  market,  and  buy  a  pound  of  bacon,  and  two  quarts  of  broad 
beans ;  and  when  he  carries  it  down  to  College  St.  to  desire  the 
maid  to  dress  it  for  dinner,  and  tell  her  I  shall  be  home  by  three 
o'clock.  Will  you  come  and  drink  tea  with  me,  and  I  will  endea- 
vor to  get  the  etc.  ready  for  you. 

Yours  affectionately,  S.  T.  C." 

Whatever  "disappointments  arose,  plausible  reasons  were  always 
assigned  for  them,  but  when  ingenuity  was  fairly  taxed  with  ex- 
cuses, worn  out,  Mr.  C.  would  candidly  admit,  that  he  had  very 
little  ''  finger  industry,"  but  then,  he  said,  his  mind  was  always 
on  "  full  stretch."  The  Herculean  labor  now  appeared  drawing 
to  a  close ;  as  will  be  clear  from  the  following  letter. 

*'  My  dear,  very  dear  Cottle, 

I  will  be  with  you  at  half  past  six  ;  if  you  will  give  me  a  dish 
of  tea,  between  .that  time  and  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  I  will  write 
out  the  whole  of  the  notes,  and  the  preface,  as  I  give  you  leave 
to  turn  the  lock  and  key  upon  me. 

I  am  engaged  to  dine  with  Michael  Castle,  but  I  will  not  be 
one  minute  past  my  time.     If  I  am,  I  permit  you  to  send  a  note 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHED.  29 

to  Michael  Castle,  requesting  him  to  send  me  home  to  fulfil  en- 
gagements, like  an  honest  man.  S.  T.  C." 

Well  knowing  that  it  was  Mr.  Coleridge's  intention  to  do  all  that 
was  right,  but  aware  at  the  same  time  that,  however  prompt  he 
might  be  in  resolving,  he  had  to  contend,  in  the  fulfilment,  with 
great  constitutional  indecision,  I  had  long  resolved  to  leave  the 
completion  of  his  v/ork  wholly  to  himself,  and  not  to  urge  him  to  a 
speed  which  would  render  that  a  toil,  which  Avas  designed  to  be  a 
pleasure. 

But  we  must  instantly  leave,  alike  excuses,  and  printer,  and 
copy,  to  notice  a  subject  of  infinitely  more  importance  ! 

It  was  now  understood  that  Mr.  Coleridge  was  about  to  be 
married.  Aware  of  his  narrow  circumstances,  and  not  doubting 
the  anxieties  he  must  necessarily  feel,  in  the  prospect  of  his  altered 
condition,  and  to  render  his  mind  as  easy  in  pecuniary  affairs,  as 
the  extreme  case  would  admit ;  I  thought  it  would  afford  a  small 
relief  to  tell  him  that  I  vfould  give  him  one  guinea  and  a  half, 
(after  his  volume  was  completed,)  for  every  hundred  lines  he 
might  present  to  me,  whether  rhyme  or  blank  verse.  This  offer 
appeared  of  more  consequence  in  the  estimation  of  Mr.  C,  than 
it  did  in  his  who  made  it ;  for  when  a  common  friend  familiarly 
asked  him  ''  how  he  was  to  keep  the  pot  boiling,  when  married  ?" 
he  very  promptly  answered,  that  Mr.  Cottle  had  made  him  such 
an  offer,  that  he  felt  no  solicitude  on  that  subject. 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  prospect  of  his  marriage,  had  taken  a  cottage 
at  Clevedon,  a  village,  happily  on  the  banks  not  of  the  Susque- 
hannah,  but  the  Severn.  He  was  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Fricker, 
October  the  4th,  1795,  and  immediately  after  set  off  for  his  coun- 
try abode. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  certificate  : — 

"  St.  Mary  Redcliffe  Church,  Bristol. 
Married, 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  to  Sarah  Fricker,  Oct.  4th,  1795. 

Benj.  Spry,  Vicar. 
Witnesses, — Martha  Fricker, 
Josiah  Wade." 

It  happened  in  this  case,  as  it  often  does  where  a  duty  devolves 


30  REMINISCENCES    OF 

equally  on  two ;  both  neglect  it.  The  cottage  at  Clevedon,  it  ap- 
peared, had  walls,  and  doors,  and  windows,  but  only  such  furni- 
ture as  became  a  philosopher  who  was  too  well  disciphned  to 
covet  inordinately,  non-essentials.  Beside  which  there  might 
have  been  more  of  system  in  this  deliberate  renunciation  of  luxury. 
For  would  it  have  been  consistent  in  those  who  anticipated'  a 
speedy  location  on  the  marge  of  one  of  the  great  American  rivers, 
to  intrench  themselves  in  comforts  that  must  so  soon  be  exchanged 
for  little  more  than  primeval  supplies  and  the  rugged  privations 
of  the  desert  ?  (For  even  at  this  time  Mr.  C.  still  fondly  dw^elt 
on  the  joys  of  the  Susquehannah.) 

Two  days  after  his  marriage,  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge (which  now  lies  before  me)  requesting  the  kindness  of  me  to 
send  him  down,  with  all  dispatch,  the  following  little  articles. 

"  A  riddle  slice ;  a  candle  box ;  two  ventilators ;  two  glasses  for  the  wash- 
hand  stand ;  one  tin  dust  pan  ;  one  small  tin  tea  kettle  ;  one  pair  of  candle- 
sticks ;  one  carpet  brush ;  one  flower  dredge ;  three  tin  extinguishers ;  two 
mats ;  a  pair  of  slippers  ;  a  cheese  toaster ;  two  large  tin  spoons  ;  a  Bible  ;  a 
keg  of  porter ;  coffee ;  raisins  ;  currants  ;  catsup ;  nutmegs  ;  allspice  ;  cinna- 
mon ;  rice  ;  ginger ;  and  mace." 

With  the  aid  of  the  grocer,  and  the  shoemaker,  and  the  brewer, 
and  the  tinman,  and  the  glassman,  and  the  brazier,  (fee,  I  imme- 
diately sent  him  all  that  he  had  required,  and  more ;  and  the  next 
day  rode  down  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  new-married  couple ; 
being  greeted,  not  with  the  common,  and  therefore  vulgar,  mate- 
rials of  cake  and  wine,  but  with  that  which  moved  the  spirit, 
hearty  gratulations  ! 

I  was  rejoiced  to  find  that  the  cottage  possessed  everything 
that  heart  could  desire.  The  situation  also  was  peculiarly  eligi- 
ble. It  was  in  the  western  extremity,  not  in  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage. It  had  the  benefit  of  being  but  one  story  high,  and  as  the 
rent  was  only  five  pounds  per  ann.,  and  no  taxes,  Mr.  Coleridge 
had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing,  that  by  fairly  "  mounting  his  Pe- 
gasus,'* he  could  write  as  many  verses  in  aw^eek  as  would  pay  his 
rent  for  a  year.  There  was  also  a  small  garden,  with  several 
pretty  flowers ;  and  the  ''  tallest  rose-tree"  was  not  failed  to  be 
pointed  out,  w^hich  "  peeped  at  the  chamber  window,"  (and  which 
lias  been  honored  with  some  beautiful  lines.)     I  observed,  how- 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  31 

ever,  that  the  parlor,  from  my  perverted  taste,  looked  rather 
awkward,  in  being  only  whitewashed,  and  the  same  effected  in 
rather  the  "  olden  time  ;"  to  remedy  which  fanciful  inconvenience, 
on  my  return  to  Bristol,  I  sent  an  upholsterer^  down  to  this  re- 
tired and  happy  abode  with  a  few  pieces  of  sprightly  paper,  to 
tarnish  the  half  immaculate  sitting-room  walls. 

Mr.  Coleridge  being  now  comfortably  settled  at  Clevedon,  I 
shall  there  for  the  present  leave  him  to  v/rite  verses  on  his  be- 
loved Sarah,  while  in  the  meantime,  I  introduce  the  reader  to  an 
ingenious  young  barrister,  whom  I  had  known  some  years  pre- 
viously under  the  following  peculiar  circumstances. 

William  Gilbert,  author  of  the  "Hurricane,"  was  the  son  of  the 
eminent  philanthropist,  Nathaniel  Gilbert,  of  Antigua,  who  is 
usually  noticed  as  "  The  excellent  Gilbert  who  first  set  an  exam- 
ple to  the  planters,  of  giving  religious  instruction  to  the  slaves." 
In  the  year  1787,  a  want  of  self-control  having  become  painfully 
evident,  he  was  j^aced  by  his  friends  in  the  Asylum  of  Mr.  Rich- 
ard Henderson,  at  rlanham,  near  Bristol,  when  I  first  knev/  him. 
He  occasionally  accompanied  John  Henderson  into  Bristol,  on  one 
of  which  occasions  he  introduced  him  to  my  brother  and   myself, 

*  This  honest  upholsterer  (a  Mr.  W.  a  good  Uttle  weak  man)  attended  the 
preaching  of  the  late  eloquent  R.obert  Hall.  At  one  time  an  odd  fancy  en- 
tered his  mind,  such  as  would  have  occurred  to  none  other;  namely,  that  he 
possessed  ministerial  gifts ;  and  with  this  notion  uppermost  in  his  head,  he 
was  sorely  perplexed,  to  determine  whether  he  ought  not  to  forsake  tlie  shop, 
and  ascend  the  pulpit. 

In  this  uncertainty,  he  thought  his  discreetcst  plan  would  be  to  consult  his 
minister;  in  conformity  with  which,  one  morning  he  called  on  Mr.  Hall,  and 
thus  began :  '•  I  call  on  you  this  morning,  Sir,  on  a  very  important  business!" 
"  Well,  Sir."  "  Why,  you  must  know.  Sir — I  can  hardly  tell  how  to  begin." 
"  Let  me  hear.  Sir."  "  Well,  Sir,  if  I  must  tell  you,  for  these  two  months  past 
I  have  had  a  strong  persuasion  on  my  mind,  that  I  possess  ministerial  tal- 
ents."— Mr,  Hall  (whose  ideas  were  high  of  ministerial  requisites)  saw  his 
delusion,  and  determined  at  once  to  check  it.  The  upholsterer  continued: 
*'  Though  a  paper-hanger  by  trade,  yet,  Sir,  I  am  now  satisfied  that  I  am 
called  to  give  up  my  business,  and  attend  to  something  better ;  for  you  know. 
Mr.  Hall,  I  should  not  bury  my  talents  in  a  napkin."  "  O  Sir,"  said  Mr.  H. 
"  you  need  not  use  a  napkin,  a  pocket-handkerchief  will  do." 

This  timely  rebuke  kept  the  good  man  to  his  paper-hangings  for  the  remain- 
der of  his  days,  for  whenever  he  thought  of  the  ministry,  this  same  image  of 
the  pocket-handkerchief  always  damped  his  courage. 


32  REMINISCENCES    OF 


as  the  "  Young  Counsellor  !"  I  spent  an  afternoon  with  them,  not 
readily  to  be  forgotten.  Many  and  great  talkers  have  I  known, 
but  William  Gilbert,  at  tliis  time,  exceeded  them  all.  His  brain 
seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  boiling  efiervescence,  and  his  tongue, 
with  inconceivable  rapidity,  passed  from  subject  to  subject,  but 
Avith  an  incoherence  that  was  to  me,  at  least,  marvellous.  For 
two  hours  he  poured  forth  a  verbal  torrent,  which  was  only  sus- 
pended by  sheer  physical  exhaustion. 

John  Henderson  must  have  perceived  a  thousand  fallacies  in 
his  impassioned  harangue ;  but  he  allowed  them  all  to  pass  un- 
commented  upon,  for  he  knew  there  was  no  fighting  with  a  vapor. 
He  continued  in  the  Asylum  about  a  year,  when  his  mind  being 
partially  restored,  his  friends  removed  him,  and  he  wholly  ab- 
sented himself  from  Bristol,  till  the  year  1 796,  when  he  re-appeared 
in  that  city. 

Being  so  interesting  a  character,  I  felt  pleasure  in  introducing 
him  to  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey,  with  '^vhom  he  readily 
coalesced,  and  they,  I  believe,  truly  respected  him,  soon  however 
perceiving  there  was  "  something  unsound  in  Denmark ;"  but 
;stiil  tJiere  was  so  much  general  and  obvious  talent  about  him,  and 
his  manners  were  so  conciliating,  that  they  liked  his  company, 
and  tolerated  some  few  peculiarities  for  the  sake  of  the  much  that 
was  good.  The  deference  he  paid  Mr.  C.  and  Mr.  S.  was  some 
evidence  that  reason  had  partly  reassumed  her  seat  in  his  mind, 
for  when  before  them,  he  withheld  many  of  his  most  extravagant 
notions,  and  maintained  such  a  comparative  restraint  on  his 
tongue,  as  evidently  arose  from  the  respect  with  which  he  was 
impressed. 

At  one  time  he  very  gravely  told  me,  that  to  his  certain 
knowledge  there  was  in  the  centre  of  Africa,  bordering  on  Abys- 
sinia, a  little  to  the  south-east,  an  extensive  nation  of  the  Gibberti, 
or  Gilberti,  and  that  one  day  or  other  he  intended  to  visit  them, 
and  claim  kindred.'^' 

*  Gilbert's  derangement  was  owing  to  the  loss  of  a  naval  cause  at  Ports- 
mouth, in  which  he  was  concerned  as  an  advocate.  Among  other  instances, 
one  time  when  at  his  lodgings,  he  interpreted  those  words  of  Christ  personally, 
"  Sell  all  that  thou  hast  and  distribute  to  the  poor,"  when,  without  the  for- 
mality of  selling,  he  thought  the  precept  might  be  more  summarily  fulfilled. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  33 

One  morning,  information  was  brought  to  us  that  W.  Gilbert, 
at-  an  early  hour,  had  departed  precipitately  from  Bristol,  without 
speaking  to  any  one  of  his  friends.  We  felt  great  concern  at  this 
unexpected  movement,  and  by  comparing  recent   conversations, 

and  therefore,  one  morning  he  tumbled  everything  he  had  in  his  room,  through 
the  window,  into  the  street,  that  the  poor  might  help  themselves ;  bed,  bolsters, 
blankets,  sheets,  chairs,  &c.,  &c.,  but  unfortunately,  it  required  at  that  season  a 
higher  exercise  of  the  clear  reasoning  process  than  he  possessed,  to  distinguish 
accurately  between  his  own  goods  and  chattels  and  those  of  his  landlady ! 

He  had  all  the  volubility  of  a  practised  advocate,  and  seemed  to  delight  in 
nothing  so  much  as  discussion,  whether  on  the  unconfirmed  parallactic  angle 
of  Sirius,  or  the  comparative  weight  of  two  straws.  Amid  the  circle  in  which 
he  occasionally  found  himself,  ample  scope  was  often  given  him  for  the  exer- 
cise of  this  faculty.  I  once  invited  him,  for  the  first  time,  to  meet  the  late 
Robert  Hail  I  had  calculated  on  some  interesting  discourse,  aware  that  each 
was  pecuharly  susceptible  of  being  aroused  by  opposition.  The  anticipations 
entertained  on  this  occasion  were  abundantly  realized.  Their  conversation, 
for  some  time,  was  mild  and  pleasant,  each,  for  each,  receiving  an  instinctive 
feeling  of  respect ;  but  the  subject  happened  to  be  started,  of  the  contra-dis- 
tinguishing merits  of  Hannah  Moore  and  Ann  Yearsley.  By  an  easy  tran- 
sition, this  led  to  the  quarrel  that  some  time  before  had  taken  place  between 
these  two  remarkable  females ;  the  one  occupying  the  summiit,  and  the  other 
moving  in  about  the  lowest  grade  of  human  society ;  but  in  genius,  compeers. 
They  at  once  took  opposite  sides.  One  argument  elicited  another,  till  at  length 
each  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  and  such  felicitous  torrents  of  eloquence 
could  rarely  have  been  surpassed  ;  where  on  each  side  ardor  was  repelled 
with  fervency,  and  yet  without  the  introduction  of  the  least  indecorous  ex- 
pression. 

Gilbert  was  an  astrologer;  and  at  the  time  of  ci  person's  birth,  he  would 
with  undoubting  confidence  predict  all  the  leading  events  of  his  future  life, 
and  sometimes  (if  he  knew  anything  of  his  personal  history)  even  venture  to 
declare  the  past.  The  caution  with  which  he  usually  touched  the  second 
subject  formed  a  striking  contrast  with  the  positive  declarations  concerning 
the  first. 

I  was  acquainted  at  this  time  with  a  medical  man  of  enlarged  mind  and 
considerable  scientific  attainments ;  and  accidentally  mentioning  to  him  that 
a  friend  of  mine  was  a  great  advocate  for  this  sublime  science,  he  remarked, 
"  I  should  Uke  to  see  him,  and  one  half  hour  would  be  sufficient  to  despoil 
him  of  his  weapons,  and  lay  him  prostrate  in  the  dust." — I  said,  "  if  you  will 
sup  with  me  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  astrologer,  and  if  you  can  beat  this 
nonsense  out  of  his  head,  you  will  benefit  him  and  all  his  friends."  When 
the  evening  arrived,  it  appeared  fair  to  apprise  WilHam  Gilbert  that  I  was 
going  to  introduce  him  to  a  doctor,  who  had  kindly  and  gratuitously  under- 
taken to  cure  him  of  all  his  astrological  maladies.  "  Will  he  ?'  said  Gilbert. 
"  The  malady  is  on  his  side.     Perhaps  I  may  cure  him." 


34  REMINISCENCES   OF 


we  thought  it  highly  probable  that,  in  obedience  to  some  astro- 
logical monition,  he  had  determined,  forthwith,  to  set  off  on  a  visit 
to  his  relatives  in  Africa.  So  convinced  was  Mr.  Southey  that 
this  long-cherished  design  had  influenced  poor  Gilbert  in  his 
sudden  withdrawment,  that  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Roscoe,  at  Liverpool, 
beggmg  him  to  interfere,  to  prevent  any  African  captain  from 
taking  such  a  person  as  Mr.  S.  described.  Mr.  Roscoe  appeared 
to  have  taken  much  trouble ;  but  after  a  vigilant  inquiry,  he  re- 
plied, by  saying  that  no  such  person  had  sailed  from,  or  appeared 
in  Liverpool.  So  that  we  remained  in  total  uncertainty  as  to 
what  was  become  of  him ;  many  years  afterwards  it  appeared  he 
had  gone  to  Charleston,  United  States,  where  he  died. 

Mr.  Southey  thus  refers  to  W.  Gilbert  in  his  "  Life  of  Wesley.'* 

"  In  the  year  1796,  Mr.  G.  published  the  '  Hurricane,  a  Theosophical  and 
Western  Eclogue,'  and  shortly  afterwards  placarded  the  walls  of  London 
with  the  largest  bills  that  had  at  that  time  been  seen,  announcing  '  the  Law 
of  Fire.'  I  knew  him  well,  and  look  back  with  a  melancholy  pleasure  to  the 
hours  which  I  have  passed  in  his  society,  when  his  mind  was  in  ruins.  His 
madness  was  of  the  most  incomprehensible  kind,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  notes 
to  his  '  Hurricane  ;'  but  the  Poem  possesses  passages  of  exquisite  beauty.  I 
have  among  my  papers  some  memorials  of  this  interesting  man.  They  who 
remember  him  (as  some  of  my  readers  will)  will  not  be  displeased  at  seeing 
him  thus  mentioned,  with  the  respect  and  regret  which  are  due  to  a  noble 
mind." 

Mr.  Wordsworth,   also,  at  the    end  of  his  "  Excui'sion,"  has 

Each  having  a  specific  business  before  him,  there  was  no  hesitation  or 
skirmishing,  but  at  first  sight  they  both,  like  tried  veterans,  in  good  earnest 
addressed  themselves  to  war.  On  one  side,  there  was  a  manifestation  of 
sound  sense  and  cogent  argument ;  on  the  other,  a  familiarity  with  all  those 
arguments,  combined  with  great  subtlety  in  evading  them  ;  and  this  sustained 
by  new  and  ingenious  sophisms.  My  medical  friend,  for  some  time,  stood 
his  ground  manfully,  till,  at  length,  he  began  to  quail,  apparently  from  the 
verbal  torrent  with  which  he  was  so  unexpectedly  assailed.  Encountered 
thus  by  so  fearful  and  consummate  a  disputant,  whose  eyes  flashed  fire  in 
unison  with  his  oracular  tones  and  impassioned  language,  the  doctor's  quiver 
unaccountably  became  exhausted,  and  his  spirit  subdued.  He  seemed  to  look 
around  for  some  mantle  in  which  to  hide  the  mortification  of  defeat ;  and  the 
more  so  from  his  previous  confidence  Never  was  a  more  triumphant  victory, 
as  it  would  superficially  appear,  achieved  by  ingenious  volubility  in  a  bad 
cause,  over  arguments,  sound,  but  inefliiciently  wielded  in  a  cause  that  was 
good.     A  fresh  instance  of  the  man  of  sense  vanquished  by  the  man  of  words. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  35 

quoted  the  following  note  to  the  "  Hurricane,"  with  the  remark 
that  it  "  is  one  of  the  finest  passages  of  modern  English  prose." 

''  A  man  is  supposed  to  improve  by  going  out  into  the  world,  by  visiting 
London.  Artificial  man  does,  he  extends  with  his  sphere ;  but,  alas !  that 
sphere  is  microscopic ;  it  is  formed  of  minutiae,  and  he  surrenders  his  genuine 
vision  to  the  artist,  in  order  to  embrace  it  in  his  ken.  His  bodily  senses  grow 
acute,  even  to  barren  and  inhuman  pruriency ;  while  his  mental  become  pro- 
portionably  obtuse.  The  reverse  is  the  man  of  mind.  He  who  is  placed  in 
the  sphere  of  nature  and  of  God,  might  be  a  mock  at  Tattersall's  and  Brooks's, 
and  a  sneer  at  St.  James's :  he  would  certainly  be  swallowed  alive  by  the  first 
Pizarro  that  crossed  him  ;  but  when  he  walks  along  the  river  of  Amazons  ; 
when  he  rests  his  eye  on  the  unrivalled  Andes  ;  when  he  measures  the  long 
and  watered  Savannah,  or  contemplates  from  a  sudden  promontory,  the  dis- 
tant, vast  Pacific,  and  feels  himself  in  this  vast  theatre,  and  commanding 
each  ready  produced  fruit  of  this  wilderness,  and  each  progeny  of  this  stream 
— his  exaltation  is  not  less  than  imperial.  He  is  as  gentle  too  as  he  is  great : 
his  emotions  of  tenderness  keep  pace  vv^ith  his  elevation  of  sentiment ;  for  he 
says,  ''  These  were  made  by  a  good  Being,  who,  unsought  by  me,  placed  me 
here  to  enjoy  them.'  He  becomes  at  once  a  child  and  a  king.  His  mind  is 
in  himself;  from  hence  he  argues  and  from  hence  he  acts,  and  he  argues  un- 
erringly, and  acts  magisterially.  His  mind  in  himself  is  also  in  his  God  ;  and 
therefore  he  loves,  and  therefore  he  soars." 

As  these  pages  are  designed,  by  brief  incidental  notices,  to  fur- 
nish a  view  of  the  Literature  of  Bristol  during  a  particular  portion 
of  time  ;  and  having  introduced  the  name  of  Ann  Yearsley,  I  here, 
in  reference  to  her,  subjoin  a  few  additional  remarks. 

I  WAS  well  acquainted  with  Ann  Yearsley,  and  my  friendship 
for  Hannah  More  did  not  blind  my  eyes  to  the  merits  of  her  oppo- 
nent. Candor  exacts  the  acknowledgment  that  the  Bristol  Milk- 
woman  was  a  very  extraordinar}^  individual.  Her  natural  abilities 
•were  eminent,  united  with  w^hich,  she  possessed  an  unusually 
sound  masculine  understanding  ;  and  altogether  evinced,  even  in 
her  countenance,  the  unequivocal  marks  of  genius.  If  her  educa- 
tion and  early  advantages  had  been  favorable,  there  is  no  limit- 
ing the  distinction  to  which  she  might  have  attained ;  and  the  re- 
spect she  did  acquire,  proves  what  formidable  barriers  may  be 
surmounted  by  native  talent  when  perseveringly  exerted,  even  in 
the  absence  of  those  preliminary  assistances  which  are  often 
merely  the  fret- work,  the  entablature  of  the  Corinthian  column. 


36  REMINISCENCES    OF 

Ann  Yearsley's  genius  was  discoverable  in  her  Poems,  but  per- 
haps the  extent  of  her  capacity  chiefly  appeared  in  her  Novel, 
"  The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask ;"  in  itself  a  bad  subject,  from  the 
confined  limit  it  gives  to  the  imagination ;  but  there  is  a  vigor  in 
her  style  which  scarcely  appeared  compatible  with  a  wholly  im- 
educated  Avoman.  The  late  Mr.  G.  Robinson,  the  bookseller,  told 
me  that  he  had  given  Ann  Years] ey  two  hundred  pounds  for  the 
above  work,  and  that  he  would  give  her  one  hundred  pounds  for 
every  volume  she  might  produce.  This  sum,  Avith  the  profits  of 
her  Poems,  enabled  her  to  set  up  a  circulating  library,  at  the  Hot 
Wells.  I  remember,  in  the  year  1793,  an  imposition  was  at- 
tempted to  be  practised  upon  her,  and  she  became  also  involved 
in  temporary  pecuniary  difficulties,  when  by  timely  interference 
and  a  little  assistance  I  had  the  happiness  of  placing  her  once 
more  in  a  state  of  comfort.  From  a  grateful  feeling  she  after- 
wards sent  me  a  handsome  copy  of  verses. 

It  has  been  too  customary  to  charge  her  Avitli  ingratitude,  (at 
which  all  are  ready  to  take  fire,)  but  without  sufficient  cause,  as  the 
slight  serv^ices  I  rendered  her  were  repaid  with  a  superabundant 
expression  of  thankfulness  ;  what  then  must  have  been  the  feel- 
ings of  her  heart  towards  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  to  whom  her  obli- 
gations were  so  surpassing  ? 

The  merits  of  the  question  involved  in  the  dissension  between 
Ann  Yearsley  and  Mrs.  H.  More,  lay  in  a  small  compass,  and  they 
deserve  to  be  faithfully  stated ;  the  public  are  interested  in  the 
refutation  of  charges  of  ingratitude,  which,  if  substantiated,  would 
tend  to  repress  assistance  toward  the  humbler  children  of  genius. 
The  baneful  effects  arising  from  a  charge  of  ingratitude,  in  Ann 
Yearsley  towards  her  benefactress,  might  be  the  proximate  means 
of  dooming  to  penury  and  death  some  unborn  Chatterton,  or  of 
eclipsing  the  sun  of  a  future  Burns. 

Hannah  More  discovered  that  the  w^oman  who  supplied  her 
family  daily  with  milk,  was  a  really  respectable  poetess.  She  col- 
lected her  productions,  and  published  them  for  her  benefit,  with  a 
reconamendatory  address.  The  Poems,  as  they  deserved,  became 
popular ;  doubtless,  in  a  great  degree,  through  the  generous  and 
uifluential  support  of  Mrs.  H.  More,  and  the  profits  of  the  sale 
amounted  to  some  hundreds  of  pounds. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  37 

The  money,  thus  obtained,  the  milk  woman  wished  to  receive 
herself :  for  the  promotion  of  herself  in  life,  and  the  assistance  of 
her  two  promising  sons,  who  inherited  much  of  their  mother's  tal- 
ent. Hannah  More  on  the  contrary,  in  conjunction  with  Mrs. 
Montague,  thought  it  most  ad\'isable  to  place  the  money  in  the 
Funds,  in  the  joint  names  of  herself  and  Mrs.  M.  as  trustees  for 
Ann  Yearsley,  so  that  she  might  receive  a  small  permanent  sup- 
port through  life.  In  this,  Hannah  More  acted  with  the  purest 
intention.  If  any  judicious  friend  had  stated  to  her  that  Ann 
Yearsley,  whom  she  had  so  greatly  served,  was  a  discreet  woman 
and  would  not  be  likely  to  squander  her  little  all ;  that  she  av anted 
to  educate  her  two  sons,  and  to  open  for  herself  a  circulating 
library,  neither  of  which  objects  could  be  accomplished  without 
trenching  on  her  capital,  no  doubt  could  have  been  entertained  of 
her  instantly  acceding  to  it. 

The  great  error  on  the  part  of  the  miikwoman,  was  in  not  pre- 
vailing on  some  friend  thus  to  interfere,  and  calmly  to  state  her 
case  ;  instead  of  which,  in  a  disastrous  moment,  she  undertook  to 
plead  her  own  cause ;  and,  without  the  slightest  intention  of  giv- 
ing offence,  called  on  her  patroness.  Both  parties  meant  well,  but 
from  the  constitution  of  the  human  mind,  it  was  hardl}^  possible 
for  one  who  had  greatly  obliged  another  in  a  subordinate  station 
to  experience  the  least  opposition  without  at  least  an  uncomforta- 
ble feeling.  There  must  have  existed  a  predisposition  to  miscon- 
strue motives,  as  well  as  a  susceptibility,  in  the  closest  alliance 
with  offence.     And  now  the  experiment  commenced. 

Here  was  a  strong-minded  illiterate  woman  on  one  side,  im- 
pressed with  a  conviction  of  the  justice  of  her  cause ;  and  further 
stimulated  by  a  deep  consciousness  of  the  importance  of  success  to 
herself  and  family  ;  and  on  the  other  side,  a  refined  mind,  deli- 
cately alive  to  the  least  approximation  to  indecorum,  and,  not  un- 
reasonably, requiring  deference  and  conciliation.  Could  such  in- 
congruous materials  coalesce  ?  Ann  Yearsley's  suit,  no  doubt,  was 
urged  with  a  zeal  approaching  to  impetuosity,  and  not  expressed 
in  that  measured  language  which  propriety  might  have  dictated ; 
and  any  deficiency  in  which  could  not  fail  to  offend  her  polished 
and  powerful  patroness. 

Ann  Yearsley  obtained  her  object,  but  she  lost  her  friend. 


38  REMINISCENCES    OF 

Her  name,  from  that  moment,  was  branded  with  ingratitude ;  and 
severe  indeed  was  the  penalty  entailed  on  her  by  this  act  of  in- 
discretion !  Her  good  name,  with  the  rapidity  of  the  eagle's 
pinion,  w^as  forfeited !  Her  talents,  in  a  large  circle,  at  once 
became  questionable,  or  vanished  away.  Her  assumed  criminality 
also  was  magnified  into  audacity,  in  daring  to  question  the  honor, 
or  oppose  the  wishes  of  two  such  women  as  Mrs.  H.  More,  and 
Mrs.  Montague  !  and  thus,  through  this  disastrous  turn  of  afifairs, 
a  dark  veil  was  suddenly  thrown  over  prospects,  so  late  the  most 
unsullied  and  exliilaratinof ;  and  the  favorite  of  fortmie  sunk  to 


rise  no  more 


Gloom  and  perplexities  in  quick  succession  oppressed  the  Bristol 
milkwoman,  and  her  fall  became  more  rapid  than  her  ascent ! 
The  eldest  of  her  sons,  William  Cromartie  Yearsley,  w^ho  had 
bidden  fair  to  be  the  prop  of  her  age,  and  whom  she  had  ap- 
prenticed to  an  eminent  engraver,  wdth  a  premium  of  one  hundred 
guineas,  prematurely  died  ;  and  his  surviving  brother  soon  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  grave  !  Ann  Yearsley,  now  a  childless  and 
desolate  widow,  retired,  heart-broken  from  the  world,  on  the  pro- 
duce of  her  library  ;  and  died  many  years  after,  in  a  state  of 
almost  total  seclusion,  at  Melksham.  An  inhabitant  of  the  town 
lately  informed  me  that  she  was  never  seen,  except  when  she  took 
her  solitary  walk  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  !  She  lies  buried  in 
Clifton  churchyard. 

In  this  passing  notice  of  the  Bristol  milkwoman,  my  design 
has  been  to  rescue  her  name  from  unmerited  obloquy,  and  not  in 
the  remotest  degi'ee  to  criminate  Hannah  More,  whose  views  and 
impressions  in  this  affair  may  have  been  somewhat  erroneous,  but 
whose  intentions  it  would  be  impossible  for  one  moment  to 
question."* 

*  I  would  here  subjoin,  that  when  money,  in  future,  may  thus  be  collected 
for  ingenious  individuals,  it  might  be  the  wisest  procedure  to  transfer  the  full 
amount,  at  once,  to  the  bencficary,  (unless  under  very  peculiar  circumstances.) 
This  is  felt  to  be  both  handsome  and  generous,  and  the  obhgation  is  perma- 
nently impressed  on  the  mind.  If  the  money  then  be  improvidently  dissipated, 
he  who  acts  thus  ungratefully  to  his  benefactors,  and  cruelly  to  himself,  re- 
flects on  his  own  folly  alone.  But  when  active  and  benevolent  agents,  who  have 
raised  subscriptions,  will  entail  trouble  on  themselves,  and  with  a  feeling  al- 
most paternal,  charge  them-selves  with  a  disinterested  solicitude  for  future  gen- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  39 

The  reader  will  not  be  displeased  with  some  further  remarks 
on  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  whose  long  residence  near  Bristol  identified 
her  so  much  with  that  city. 

Mrs.  H.  More  lived  with  her  four  sisters,  Mary,  Elizabeth,  Sarah, 
and  Martha,  after  they  quitted  their  school  in  Park-street,  Bristol, 
at  a  small  neat  cottage  in  Somersetshire,  called  Cowslip  Green. 
The  Misses  M.  some  years  afterward  built  a  better  house,  and 
called  it  Barley  Wood,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  about  a  mile  from 
Wrington.  Here  they  all  lived,  in  the  highest  degree  respected 
and  beloved  ;  their  house  the  seat  of  piety,  cheerfulness,  literature, 
and  hospitality  ;  and  they  themselves  receiving  the  honor  of  more 
visits  from  bishops,  nobles,  and  persons  of  distinction,  than, 
perhaps,  any  private  family  in  the  kingdom. 

My  sisters  having  been  educated  by  them,  and  myself  having 
two  intimate  friends,  who  were  also  the  friends  of  the  Misses 
More  ;  the  Rev.  James  Newton,^  and  my  old  tutor,  John  Hender- 

erations,  without  a  strong  effort  of  the  reasoning  power,  the  favor  is  reduced 
to  a  fraction.  Dissatisfaction  almost  necessarily  ensues,  and  the  accusation 
of  ingratitude  is  seldom  far  behind. 

*  The  Rev.  James  Newton  was  Classical  Tutor  at  the  Bristol  Baptist 
Academy,  in  conjunction  with  the  late  Dr.  Caleb  Evans,  and,  for  a  short 
season,  the  late  Robert  Hall.  He  was  my  most  revered  and  honored  friend, 
who  lived  for  twenty  years  an  inmate  in  my  father's  family,  and  to  whom  I 
am  indebted  in  various  ways,  beyond  my  ability  to  express.  His  learning  was 
his  least  recommendation.  His  taste  for  elegant  literature  ;  his  fine  natural 
understanding,  his  sincerity,  and  conciliating  manners  justified  the  eulogimn 
expressed  by  Dr.  Evans  in  preaching  his  Funeral  Sermon,  1789,  when  he 
said,  (to  a  weeping  congregation.)  that  "  He  never  made  an  enemy,  nor  lost 
a  friend." 

Mr.  Newton  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  late  Dean  Tucker,  and  the 
Rev.  Sir  James  Stonehouse,  the  latter  of  whom  introduced  him  to  Hannah 
More,  who  contracted  for  him,  as  his  worth  and  talents  became  more  and 
more  manifest,  a  sincere  and  abiding  friendship.  Mr.  Newton  had  the  honor 
of  teaching  Hannah  More  Latin.  The  time  of  his  instructing  her  did  not 
exceed  ten  months.  She  devoted  to  this  one  subject  the  whole  of  her  time, 
and  all  the  energies  of  her  mind.  Mr.  Newton  spoke  of  her  to  me  as  exem- 
plifying how  much  might  be  attained  in  a  short  time  by  talent  and  determina- 
tion combined ;  and  he  said,  for  the  limited  period  of  his  instruction,  she  sur- 
passed in  her  progress  all  others  whom  he  had  ever  known.  H.  More  was  in 
the  habit  of  submitting  her  MSS.  to  Mr.  N.'s  judicious  remarks,  and  by  this 
means,  from  living  in  the  same  house  with  him,  I  preceded  the  public  in  in- 
specting some  of  her  productions;  particularly  her  MS.  Poem  on  the  "  Slave 


40  REMINISCENCES  OF 


son,  they  introduced  me  to.  the  family  in  Park-street,  and  the  ac- 
quaintance then  commenced  was  progressively  ripened  into  respect 
that  continued  to  the  termination  of  all  their  lives.  Hannah 
More  gave  me  unrestricted  permission  to  bring  down  to  Barley 
Wood,  any  literary  or  other  friend  of  mine,  at  any  time  ;  and  of 
which  privilege,  on  various  occasions,  I  availed  myself. 

Many  years  before,  I  had  taken  down,  then  by  express  invita- 
tion, Mr.  Southey,  to  see  these  excellent  ladies ;  and  in  the  year 
1814,  I  conducted  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Barley  Wood,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  him  to  Hannah  More  and  her  sisters.  For 
two  hours  after  our  arrival,  Mr.  C.  displayed  a  good  deal  of  his 
brilliant  conversation,  when  he  was  listened  to  with  surprise  and 
delight  by  the  whole  circle  ;  but  at  this  time,  unluckily,  Lady  — 
was  announced,  when  Mrs.  Hannah,  from  politeness,  devoted  her- 
self to  her  titled  visitant,  while  the  little  folks  retired  to  a  snug 
window  with  one  or  two  of  the  Misses  More,  and  there  had  their 
own  ascreeable  converse. 

Hannah  More's  eminently  useful  life  manifested  itself  in 
nothing  more  than  the  effort  she  made  to  instruct  the  ignorant 
through  the  medium  of  moral  and  religious  tracts,  and  by  the 
establishment  of  schools.  These  w^ere  made  blessings  on  a  wide 
scale,  whilst  their  good  effects  are  continued  to  this  time,  and  are 
likely  to  be  perpetuated. 

It  is  here  proper  to  mention,  that  after  superintending  these 
various  schools,  either  personally  or  by  proxy,  for  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  and  after  the  decease  of  her  four  benevolent 
and  excellent  sisters,  Hannah  More  found  it  necessary  to  leave 
Barley  Wood,  and  to  remove  to  Clifton.  Here  her  expenses  were 
reduced  one  half,  and  her  comforts  greatly  increased.  The  house 
she  occupied,  No.  4  Windsor  Terrace,  Clifton,  was  even  more 
pleasant  than  the  one  she  had  left,  and  the  prospects  from  it 
much  more  enlivening.     I  remember  to  have  called  on  her  with 

Trade,"  and  her  "  Bas  Bleu."  When  a  boy,  many  an  evening  do  I  recollect 
to  have  listened  in  wonderment  to  colloquisms  and  disputations  carried  on  in 
Latin  between  Mr.  Newton  and  John  Henderson.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to 
have  borne  this  brief  testimony  of  respect  toward  one  on  whom  memory  so  of- 
ten and  so  fondly  reposes!  Best  of  men,  and  kindest  of  friends,  "farewell  till 
we  do  meet  again!" — (Bowles.) 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  41 

the  late  Robert  Hall,  when  slie  discovered  a  cheerfulness  which 
showed  that  Barley  Wood  was  no  longer  regretted.  She  brought 
us  to  the  windows  of  her  spacious  drawing  room,  and  there,  in  the 
expanse  beneath,  invited  us  to  behold  the  new  docks,  and  the 
merchants'  numerous  ships,  while  the  hill  of  Dundry  appeared 
(at  the  distance  of  four  miles)  far  loftier  th.an  her  own  Mendip, 
and  equally  verdant.  From  the  windovr  of  her  back  room  also, 
directly  imder  her  eye,  a  far  more  exquisite  prospect  presented 
itself  than  any  Barley  Wood  could  boast ;  Leigh  Woods,  St.  Yin- 
cent's  Rocks,  Clifton  Down,  and,  to  crown  the  whole,  the  windino- 
.  Avon,  Avith  the  continually  shifting  commerce  of  Bristol ;  and  we 
left  her  with  the  impression  that  tlie  change  in  her  abode  was  a 
great  accession  to  her  happiness. 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Wilberforce,  Hannah  More  thus  rather  pleas- 
antly writes  : — 

'•'4,  Windsor  Terrace,  Oct.  29,  1828. 
«  My  very  dear  Friend, 

*  *  *  I  am  diminishing  my  w^orldjy  cares.  I  have  sold  Barley 
Wood.  I  have  exchanged  the  eight  "  pampered  minions,"  for 
four  sober  servants.  As  I  have  sold  my  carriage  and  horses,  I 
want  no  coachman  :  as  I  have  no  garden,  I  want  no  gardener.  I 
have  greatly  lessened  my  house  expenses,  which  enables  me  to 
maintain  my  schools,  and  enlarge  my  charities.  My  schools  alone, 
with  clothing,  rents,  &c.,  cost  me  £150  a  year." 

Mrs.  H.  More  w^as  sometimes  liberally  assisted  in  the  support 
of  these  schools  (as  I  learned  from  Miss  Martha  More)  by  three 
philanthropic  individuals,  the  late  Mr.  Henry  Thornton,  the  late 
Mr.  Wilberforce,  and  the  late  Sir  W.  W.  Pepys,  Bart. 

Mrs.  H.  More,  in  a  letter  to  Sir  W.  W.  Pepys,  acknowledging 
the  receipt  of  one  hundred  pounds,  says,  "  My  most  affectionate 
respects  to  Lady  Pepys.  The  young  race,  of  course,  have  all  for- 
gotten me  ;  but  I  have  not  forgotten  the  energy  with  which  your 
eldest  son,  at  seven  years  old,  ran  into  the  drawino:  room,  and  said 
to  me,  ^  After  all,  Ferdinand  v/ould  never  have  sent  Columbus  to 
find  out  America  if  it  had  not  been  for  Isabella  :  it  Avas  entirely 
her  doing.'  "     How  gratifying  it  Vv'ould  have  been  to  H.  More, 


42  REMINISCENCES  OF 

had  slic  lived  two  or  three  years  longer,  to  have  found  in  ,the 
round  of  human  things,  that  this  energetic  boy  of  seven  years, 
had  become  (1837)  the  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England!  and 
now  again  in  1846. 

All  the  paintings,  drav\-ings,  and  prints  which  covered  the  walls 
of  the  parlor,  on  Hannah  More's  quitting  Barley  Wood,  she  gave 
to  her  friend.  Sir  T.  D.  Ackland,  Bart.,  with  the  exception  of  the 
portrait,  by  Palmer,  of  John  Henderson,  which  she  kindly  pre- 
sented to  myself. 

As  I  purposed,  in  projecting  the  present  work,  to  allow  my- 
self a  certain  latitude  in  commenting  on  persons  of  talent  con- 
nected recently  with  Bristol,  and  v\'ith  whom  Mr.  C.  and  Mr.  S. 
were  acquainted,  and  especially  when  those  persons  are  dead,  I 
shall  here  in  addition  briefly  refer  to  the  late  Robert  Hall. 

Mr.  Hall  is  universally  admitted  to  have  possessed  a  mind  of 
the  first  order.  He  united  qualities,  rarely  combined,  each  of 
Avhich  would  have  constituted  greatness ;  being  a  writer  of  pre- 
eminent excellence,  and  a  sacred  orator  that  exceeded  all  compe- 
tition. 

Posterity  will  judge  of  Robert  Hall's  capacity  by  his  writings 
alone,  but  all  who  knew  him  as  a  preacher,  unhesitatingly  admit 
that  in  his  pulpit  exercises  (when  the  absorption  of  his  mind  in 
his  subject  rendered  him  but  half  sensible  to  the  agony  of  inter- 
nal maladies  which  scarcely  knew  cessation,  and  which  would 
have  prostrated  a  spirit  less  firm)  that  in  these  exercises,  the  su- 
periority of  his  intellect  became  more  undeniably  manifest  than 
even  in  his  deliberate  compositions.  Here  some  might  approach, 
who  could  not  surpass ;  but,  as  a  preacher,  he  stood,  collected,  in 
solitary  grandeur. 

Let  the  reader,  Avho  was  never  privileged  to  see  or  hear  this  ex- 
traordinary man,  present  to  his  imagination  a  dignified  figure^ 
that  secured  the  deference  which  was  never  exacted ;  a  capacious 
forehead  ;  an  eye,  in  the  absence  of  excitement,  dark,  yet  placid, 
but  when  warmed  with  argument,  flashing  almost  coruscations  of 

*  From  his  natural  unassumed  dignity,  Mr.  Foster  used  to  call  Mr.  Hall 
"  Jupiter r 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  43 

light,  as  the  harmonious  accompaniments  of  his  powerful  lan- 
guage. 

But  the  pulpit  presented  a  wider  field  for  the  display  of  this 
constitutional  ardor.  Here,  the  eye,  that  always  awed,  progi^s- 
sively  advanced  in  expression  ;  till  w^armed  with  his  immortal 
subject  it  kindled  into  absolute  radiance,  that  with  its  piercing- 
beams  penetrated  the  very  heart,  and  so  absorbed  the  spirit  that 
the  preacher  himself  was  forgotten  in  the  magnificent  and  almost 
overpowering  array  of  impassioned  thoughts  and  images.  With 
this  exterior,  let  the  reader  associate  a  voice,  though  not  strong, 
eminently  flexible  and  harmonious  ;  a  mind  that  felt,  and  there- 
fore never  erred  in  its  emphasis ;  alternately  touching  the  chord 
of  pathos,  or  advancing  with  equal  ease  into  the  region  of  argu- 
ment or  passion  ;  and  then  let  him  remember  that  every  sentiment 
he  uttered  was  clothed  in  expressions  as  mellifluous  as  perhaps 
ever  fell  from  the  tongue  of  man. 

Few  would  dispute  the  testimony  of  Dugald  Stewart  on  sub- 
jects of  composition ;  and  still  fewer  would  (pestion  his  author- 
ity in  ascribing,  as  he  does,  to  Robert  Hall,  the  excellencies  of 
Addison,  Johnson,  and  Burke,  without  their  defects  ;  and  to  the 
works  of  Mr.  H.  reference  will  hereafter  doubtless  be  made,  as 
exhibiting  some  of  the  finest  specimens  that  can  be  adduced,  of 
the  harmony,  the  elegance,  the  energy,  and  compass  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue. 

After  noticinof  the  excellencies  of  Mr.  Hall  as  a  Christian  advo- 
cate,  it  appears  almost  bordering  on  the  anti-climax,  to  name, 
that  a  great  accession  to  this  his  distinction  as  a  writer  arose 
from  his  exquisite  taste  in  composition,  sedulously  cultivated 
through  life  ;  and  v.diich  (as  the  reward  of  so  chastened  a  judg- 
ment, attained  with  such  labor)  at  length  superseded  toil  in  the 
arrangement  of  his  words,  since  every  thought,  as  it  arose  in  his 
mind,  when  expression  was  given  to  it,  appeared  spontaneously, 
clothed  in  the  most  appropriate  language. 

Often  has  Mr.  H.  expatiated  to  me  on  the  subject  of  style,  so 
as  to  manifest  the  depth  and  acuteness  of  his  criticisms  ;  as  well 
as  to  leave  a  firm  conviction  that  the  superiority  he  had  acquired 
arose  from  no  lax  endeavor  and  happy  casualty,  but  from  severe 
and  permanent  effort,  founded  on  the  best  models  ;  at  least,  in 


44  REMINISCENCES    OF 

■ _. _: —^ , 

that  period  of  his  Hfe  when  the  structure  of  his  mind  was  formed, 
or  forming.     He  said  that  Cicero  liad  been  his  chief  model. 

This  habit  of  minute  and  general  analysis,  combined  as  it  was 
with  his  line  luminous  intellect,  enabled  him  with  alm.ost  intui- 
tive discernment,  to  perceive  promptly  whatever  was  valuable  or 
defective  in  the  productioiis  of  others  ;  and  this  faculty  being 
conjoined  with  solid  learning,  extensive  reading,  a  retentive  mem- 
ory, a  vast  store  of  diversified  knowledge,  together  with  a  crea- 
tive fancy  and  a  logical  mind,  gave  him  at  all  times,  an  unobtru- 
sive reliance  on  himself;  with  an  inexhaustible  mental  treasury 
that  qualified  him  alike  to  shine  in  the  friendly  circle,  or  to  charm, 
and  astonish,  and  edify,  in  the  crowded  assembly. 

That  the  same  individual  should  so  far  excel  both  as  a  preacher 
and  a  writer,  and  at  the  same  time  be  equally  distinguished  for 
his  brilliant  conversational  talent,  is  scarcely  conceivable,  and 
would  be  too  much  reputation  for  any  man,  unless  tempered,  as 
it  was  in  Mr.  Hall,  by  no  ordinary  measure  of  Christian  humility, 
and  a  preference  ever  expressed,  for  the  moral  over  the  intellectual 
character. 

It  is  not  m.eant  to  imply  that  Mr.  Hall  was  perfect,  (a  condition 
reserved  for  another  state,)  but  he  made  gigantic  strides  towards 
that  point,  at  which  all  should  aim.  That  such  rare  talents  should 
have  been  devoted,  through  a  long  and  consistent  life,  to  the 
cause  of  his  Redeemer,  must  excite  thankfulness  in  the  breast  of 
every  Christian,  and  at  the  same  time  deepen  the  hue  with  which 
he  contemplates  some  others,  whose  talents  and  influences,  were, 
and  are,  all  banefully  exercised,  from  what  might  appear  a  design 
to  corrupt  man,  and  madly  to  oppose  and  defy  the  Supreme  him- 
self! 

Some  of  Mr.  Hall's  later  admirers  may  resist  the  idea  that  there 
ever  w^as  a  period  when  his  ministerial  exercises  Avere  more  elo- 
quent than  at  the  last ;  but  without  hesitation,  I  adopt  a  different 
opinion.  The  estimate  formed  of  him  in  this  place,  is  chiefly 
founded  on  the  earlier  part  of  life,  when,  without  any  opposing 
influences,  a  more  unbridled  range  was  given  to  his  imagination ; 
Avhen  there  was  an  energy  in  his  manner,  and  a  felicity  and  copi- 
ousness in  his  language,  which  vibrated  on  the  very  verge  of 
human  capabihty. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  45 

It  is  incredible  to  suppose  that  intense  and  almost  unceasing 
pain,  should  not  partially  have  unnerved  his  mind  ;  that  he  should 
not  have  directed  a  more  undiverted  concentration  of  thought,  and 
revelled  with  more  freedom  and  luxuriance  of  expression,  before, 
rather  than  during  the  ravages  of  that  insidious  and  fatal  disease, 
under  which  he  labored  for  so  many  years,  and  which  never 
allowed  him,  except  when  in  the  pulpit,  to  deviate  from  a  recum- 
bent posture.  However  combated  by  mental  firmness,  such  per- 
petual suffering  must  have  tended  in  some  degree  to  repress  the 
vehemence  of  his  intellectual  fire  ;  and  the  astonishment  prevails, 
that  he  possessed  fortitude  enough  to  contend  so  long  with  antag- 
onists so  potent.  Except  for  the  power  of  religion,  and  the  sus- 
taining influence  of  faith,  nothing  could  have  restrained  him  from 
falling  back  on  despondency  or  despair.  Yet  even  to  his  final  ser- 
mon, he  maintained  his  pre-eminence  ;  and  in  no  one  discourse  of 
his  last  years,  did  he  decline  into  mediocrity,  or  fail  to  remind  the 
elder  part  of  his  audience  of  a  period  when  his  eloquence  was 
almost  superhuman."^ 

After  allowing,  that  many  humble  but  sincere  preachers  of  the 
gospel  of  Christ,  may  be  as  accepted  of  God,  and  be  made  as 
useful  to  their  fellow-men  as  the  most  prodigally  endowed,  yet 
the  possession  of  great  and  w^ell-directed  talents  must  not  be  un- 
derrated. Different  soils  require  different  culture,  and  that  w^hich 
is  inoperative  on  one  man  may  be  beneficial  to  another,  and  it  is 
hardly  possible  for  any  one  to  form  a  due  estimate  of  the  eleva- 
tion of  which  pulpit  oratory  is  susceptible  w^ho  never  heard  Robert 
Hall.  This  character  of  his  preaching  refers  more  particularly  to 
the  period  w^hen  his  talents  were  in  their  most  vigorous  exercise ; 
a  little  before  the  time  when  he  published  his  celebrated  sermon 
on  "Infidelity." 

*  Mr  Hall  broke  down  all  distinction  of  sects  and  parties.  On  one  of  his 
visits  to  Bristol,  when  preaching  at  the  chapel  in  Broadmead,  a  competent  in- 
dividual noticed  in  the  thronged  assembly  an  Irish  Bishop,  a  Dean,  and  thir- 
teen Clergymen. 

The  late  Dr.  Parr  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Mr  Hall.  He  said  to  a 
friend  of  the  writer,  after  a  warm  eulogium  on  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  H :  "In 
short,  sir,  the  man  is  inspired."  Hannah  More  has  more  than  once  said  to 
the  writer,  "  There  was  no  man  in  the  church,  nor  out  of  it,  comparable  in 
talents  to  Robert  Hall." 


46  REMINISCENCES   OF 

This  sermon  I  was  so  happy  as  to  hear  dehvered,  and  have  no 
hesitation  in  expressing  an  opinion  that  the  oral  was  not  only  very 
different  from  the  printed  discourse,  but  greatly  its  superior.  In 
the  one  case  he  expressed  the  sentiments  of  a  mind  fully  charged 
\vith  matter  the  most  invigorating,  and  solemnly  important ;  but, 
discarding  notes,  (Avhich  he  once  told  me  always  "hampered 
him,")  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  display  the  same  language,  or 
to  record  the  same  evanescent  trains  of  thought ;  so  that  in  pre- 
paring a  sermon  for  the  press,  no  other  than  a  general  resem- 
blance could  be  preserved.  In  tiTisting  alone  to  his  recollection, 
when  the  stimulus  was  withdrawn  of  a  crowded  and  most  atten- 
tive auditory,  the  ardent  feeling,  the  thought  that  "  burned," 
was  liable,  in  some  measure,  to  become  deteriorated  by  the  substi- 
tution of  cool  philosophical  arrangement  and  accuracy  for  the 
spontaneous  effusions  of  his  overflowing  heart  ;  so  that  what  was 
gained  by  one  course  was  more  than  lost  by  the  other. 

During  Mr.  Hall's  last  visit  to  Bristol,  (prior  to  his  final  settle- 
ment thete,)  I  conducted  him  to  view  the  beautiful  scenery  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  no  one  could  be  more  alive  to  the  picturesque 
than  Mr.  H.  On  former  occasions,  when  beholding  the  expanse 
of  water  before  him,  he  has  said,  with  a  pensive  ejaculation,  "We 
have  no  water  in  Cambridgeshire ;"  and  subsequently,  in  noticing 
the  spreading  foliage  of  Lord  de  Clifford's  park,  he  has  observed 
with  the  same  mournful  accent  :  "  Ah,  sir,  we  have  no  such  trees 
as  these  in  Leicestershire."  And  when  at  this  time  he  arrived  at 
a  point  which  presented  the  grandest  assemblage  of  beauty,  he 
paused  in  silence  to  gaze  on  the  rocks  of  St.  Vincent,  and  the 
Avon,  and  the  dense  woods,  and  the  distant  Severn,  and  the  dim 
blue  mountains  of  Wales,  when  with  that  devotional  spirit  which 
accorded  with  the  general  current  of  his  feelings,  in  an  ecstacy  he 
exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  if  these  outskirts  of  the  Almighty's  dominion 
can,  with  one  glance,  so  oppress  the  heart  with  gladness,  what 
will  be  the  disclosures  of  eternity,  when  the  full  revelation  shall 
"be  made  of  the  things  not  seen,  and  the  river  of  the  city  of  God  ! " 

But  "  Recollections"  of  Mr.  Hall  are  not  intended,  although  it 
may  be  named,  he  stated,  in  one  of  these  rides,  that  he  had  arisen 
from  his  bed  two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  night,  when 
projecting  his  "  Sermon  on  the  Death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,'* 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  47 

to  record  thoughts,  or  to  write  do\Yn  passages  that  he  feared 
might  otherwise  escape  his  memory.  This,  at  least,  showed  the 
intensity  of  the  interest  he  felt,  though  a  superabundance  of  the 
choicest  matter  was  ever  at  his  command ;  and  if  one  idea  hap- 
pened accidentally  to  be  lost,  one  that  w?.s  better  immediately 
supplied  its  place. 

Perhaps  this  notice  may  be  deemed,  by  some,  too  extended,  if 
not  misplaced ;  but  if  the  present  occasion  of  referring  to  Mr. 
Hall,  had  been  neglected,  no  other  might  have  occurred.  The 
man  whose  name  is  recorded  on  high  stands  in  no  need  of  human 
praise ;  yet  survivors  have  a  debt  to  pay,  and  whilst  I  disclaim 
every  undue  bias  on  my  mind  in  estimating  the  character  of  one 
who  so  ennobled  liuman  nature,  none  can  feel  surprise  that  I 
should  take  a  favorable  retrospect  of  Mr.  H.  after  an  intercourse 
and  friendship  of  more  than  forty  years.  Inadequate  as  is  the 
present  offering,  some  satisfaction  is  felt  at  the  opportunity  pre- 
sented of  bestowing  this  small  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one  whom 
I  ever  venerated,  and,  in  so  doino-,  of  addino^  another  attestation 
to  the  merits  of  so  good  and  great  a  man. 

The  reader,  after  this  long;  dio-ression,  will  have  his  attention 
directed  once  more  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  who  was  left  at  Clevedon  in 
the  possession  of  domestic  comfort,  and  with  the  hope,  if  not  the 
prospect,  of  uninterrupted  happiness.  It  could  hardly  be  sup- 
posed, that  in  the  element  of  so  much  excitement,  the  spirit  of 
inspiration  should  remain  slumbering.  On  my  next  seeing  Mr.  C. 
he  read  me,  with  more  than  his  accustomed  enthusiasm,  those 
tenderly  affectionate  lines  to  his  "  Sara,"  beginning 

"  My  pensive  Sara,  thy  soft  cheek  reclined,"  &c. 

Mr.  Coleridge  now  began  to  console  himself  with  the  suspicion, 
not  only  that  felicity  might  be  found  on  this  side  the  Atlantic,  but 
that  Clevedon  concentrated  the  sum  of  all  that  earth  had  to  be- 
stow. He  was  now  even  satisfied  that  the  Susquehannah«tself 
retired  into  shade  before  the  superior  attractions  of  his  own  native 
Severn.  He  had,  in  good  truth,  discovered  the  grand  secret ;  the 
abode  of  happiness,  after  which  all  are  so  sedulously  inquiring ; 
and  this  accompanied  with  the  cheering  assurance,  that,  by  a 


48  REMINISCENCES   OF 


merely  pleasurable  intellectual  exertion,  he  would  be  able  to  pro- 
vide for  his  moderate  expenses,  and  experience  the  tranquillizing 
jo3''s  of  seclusion,  while  the  whole  country  and  Europe  were  con- 
vulsed with  war  and  changes. 

Alas,  repose  was  not  made  for  man,  nor  man  for  repose !  Mr. 
Coleridge  at  this  time  little  thought  of  the  joys  and  sorrows,  the 
vicissitudes  of  life,  and  revolutions  of  feeling,  with  which  he  was 
ordained  ere  long  to  contend  !  Inconveniences  connected  with  his 
residence  at  Clevedon,  not  at  first  taken  into  the  calculation,  now 
gradually  unfolded  themselves.  The  place  was  too  far  from  Bris- 
tol. It  was  difficult  of  access  to  friends ;  and  the  neighbors  were 
a  little  too  tattling  and  inquisitive.  And  then  again,  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge could  not  well  dispense  with  his  literary  associates,  and  par- 
ticularly with  his  access  to  that  fine  institution,  the  Bristol  City 
Library ;  and,  in  addition,  as  he  was  necessitated  to  submit  to 
frugal  restraints,  a  walk  to  Bristol  was  rather  a  serious  undertak- 
ing ;  and  a  return  the  same  day  hardly  to  be  accomplished,  in  the 
failure  of  which,  his  "  Sara"  was  lonely  and  uneasy ;  so  that  his 
friends  urged  him  to  return  once  more  to  the  place  he  had  left ; 
which  he  did,  forsaking,  with  reluctance,  his  rose-bound  cottage, 
and  taking  up  his  abode  on  RedclifF-hill.  There  was  now  some 
prospect  that  the  printer's  types  would  be  again  set  in  motion, 
although  it  was  quite  proper  that  they  should  remain  in  abeyance 
while  so  many  grand  events  were  transpiring  in  the  region  of  the 
domestic  hearth.     This  was  late  in  the  year  1795. 

After  Mr.  Coleridge  had  been  some  little  time  settled  in  Bris- 
tol, he  experienced  another  removal.  To  exchange  the  country, 
and  all  the  beauties  of  nature,  for  pent-up  rooms  on  Redcliff-hill, 
demanded  from  a  poet,  sacrifices  for  which  a  few  advantages  would 
but  ill  compensate.  In  this  uneasy  state  of  mind,  Mr.  C.  received 
an  invitation  from  his  friend,  Mr.  T,  Poole,  of  Stowey,  Somerset- 
shire, to  come  and  visit  him  in  that  retired  town,  and  to  which 
place  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coleridge  repaired. 

Th^  volume  of  poems,  that,  in  the  presence  of  so  many  more 
important  affairs,  had  retired  into  shade,  was  now  about  to  re- 
appear, as  will  be  found  by  the  following  letter. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHE  F.  49 


''Stowey, 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  feel  it  much,  and  very  uncomfortable,  that,  lovmg  you  as  a 
brother,  and  feeling  pleasure  in  pouring  out  my  heart  to  you,  I 
should  so  seldom  be  able  to  write  a  letter  to  you,  unconnected 
with  business,  and  uncontaminated  with  excuses  and  apologies. 
I  give  every  moment  I  can  spare  from  my  garden  and  the  Re- 
views, (i.  e.)  from  my  potatoes  and  meat,  to  the  poem,  (Religious 
Musings,)  but  I  go  on  slowly,  for  I  torture  the  poem  and  myself 
with  corrections ;  and  what  I  write  in  an  hour,  I  sometimes  take 
two  or  three  days  in  correcting.  You  may  depend  on  it,  the  poem 
and  prefaces  will  take  up  exactly  the  number  of  pages  I  men- 
tioned, and  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  have  the  work  as  perfect 
as  possible,  and  which  I  cannot  do,  if  it  be  finished  immediately. 
The  "  Religious  Musings"  I  have  altered  monstrously,  since  I  read 
them  to  you  and  received  your  criticisms.  I  shall  send  them  to 
you  in  my  next.  The  Sonnets  I  will  send  you  with  the  Musings. 
God  love  you ! 

From  your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Mr.  Coleridge  at  this  time  meditated  the  printing  of  two  vol- 
umes of  his  poems.     He  thus  expresses  his  intention. 

"  I  mean  to  have  none  but  large  poems  in  the  second  volume ; 
none  under  three  hundred  lines  ;  therefore  I  have  crov/ded  all  my 
little  pieces  into  this." 

He  speaks  in  the  same  letter,  of  two  poems  which  I  never  saw. 
Perhaps  they  were  composed  in  his  own  mind,  but  never  recorded 
on  paper  ;  a  practice  which  Mr.  C.  sometimes  adopted.  He  thus 
writes  :  "  The  '  Nativity'  is  not  quite  three  hundred  lines.  It  has 
cost  me  much  labor  in  polishing ;  more  than  any  poem  I  ever 
wrote,  and  I  believe  deserves  it  more.  The  epistle  to  Tom.  Poole, 
which  will  come  with  the  '  ISTatii^ty,'  is  I  think  one  of  my  most 
pleasing  compositions." 

In  a  letter  of  Mr.  C.  dated  from  Stowey,  Mr.  Coleridge  also 
says,  "  I  have  written  a  Ballad  of  three  hundred  lines,  and  also 
a  plan  of  general  study."  It  appeared  right  to  make  these  state- 
ments, and  it  is  hoped  the  productions  named  may  still  be  in  ex- 
istence. 

8 


50  REMINISCENCi^S   OF 


Mr.  Coleridge  now  finding  it  difficult  to  superintend  the  press 
at  so  great  a  distance  as  Stowey,  and  that  it  interfered  also  with 
his  other  literary  engagements,  he  resolved  once  more  to  remove 
to  Bristol,  the  residence  of  so  many  friends ;  and  to  that  city  he 
repaired,  the  beginning  of  1796.  A  conviction  now  also  rested 
on  his  mind,  as  there  was  the  prospect  of  an  increase  in  liis  family, 
that  he  must  bestir  himself,  and  effectually  call  his  resolutions  into 
exercise.  Soon  after  he  was  fairly  settled,  he  sent  me  the  follow- 
ing letter. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  this  night  and  to-morrow  for  you,  being  alone,  and  my 
spirits  calm.  I  shall  consult  my  poetic  honor,  and  of  course  your 
interest,  more  by  staying  at  home,  than  by  drinking  tea  with  you. 
I  should  be  happy  to  see  my  poems  out  even  by  next  week,  and 
I  shall  continue  in  stirrups,  that  is,  shall  not  dismount  my  Pegasus, 
till  Monday  morning,  at  which  time  you  will  have  to  thank  God 
for  having  done  with 

Your  affectionate  friend  always,  but  author  evanescent. 

S.  T.  C." 

Except  for  the  serious  effect,  unintentionally  produced,  a  rather 
ludicrous  circumstance  some  time  after  this  occurred,  that  is,  after 
Mr.  C.  had  "mounted  his  Pegasus"  for  the  last  time,  and,  per- 
mitted, so  long  ago,  *'  the  lock  and  key  to  be  turned  upon  him." 

The  promised  notes,  preface,  and  some  of  the  text,  not  having 
been  furnished,  I  had  determined  to  make  no  further  application, 
but  to  allow  Mr.  C.  to  consult  his  ovfn  inclination  and  convenience. 
Having  a  friend  who  wanted  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  I 
invited  him  to  dinner,  and  sent  Mr.  C.  a  note,  to  name  the  time, 
and  to  solicit  his  company.  The  bearer  of  the  note  was  simply 
requested  to  give  it  to  Mr.  C,  and  not  finding  him  at  home,  incon- 
siderately brought  it  back.  Mr.  Coleridge  returning  home  soon 
after,  and  learning  that  I  had  sent  a  letter,  which  was  taken  back, 
in  the  supposition  that  it  could  relate  but  to  one  subject,  addressed 
to  me  the  following  astounding  letter. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  51 

"  Redcliff-hill,  Feb.  22,  1796. 
My  dear  Sir, 

It  is  my  duty  and  business  to  thank  God  for  all  his  dispensa- 
tions, and  to  believe  them  the  best  possible  ;  but,  indeed,  I  think 
I  should  have  been  more  thankful,  if  he  had  made  me  a  journey- 
man shoemaker,  instead  of  an  author  by  trade.  I  have  left  my 
friends :  I  have  left  plenty  ;  I  have  left  that  ease  which  would 
have  secured  a  literary  immortality,  and  have  enabled  me  to  give 
the  public,  works  conceived  in  moments  of  inspiration,  and 
pohshed  with  leisurely  solicitude,  and  alas !  for  what  have  I  left 

them  ?  for who  deserted  me  in  the  hour  of  distress,  and  for 

a  scheme  of  virtue  impracticable  and  romantic  !  So  I  am  forced 
to  write  for  bread  !  write  the  flights  of  poetic  enthusiasm,  when 
every  minute  I  am  hearing  a  groan  from  my  wife.  Groans,  and 
complaints,  and  sickness !  the  present  hour  I  am  in  a  quick-set 
hedge  of  embarrassment,  and  whichever  way  I  turn,  a  thorn  runs 
into  me !  The  future  is  cloud,  and  thick  darkness !  Poverty, 
perhaps,  and  the  thin  faces  of  them  that  want  bread,  looking  up 
to  me !  Nor  is  this  all.  My  happiest  moments  for  composition 
are'  broken  in  upon  by  the  reflection  that  I  must  make  haste.  I 
am  too  late  !  I  am  already  months  behind  !  I  have  received  my 
pay  beforehand !  Oh,  wayward  and  desultory  spirit  of  genius  ! 
Ill  canst  thou  brook  a  taskmaster !  The  tenderest  touch  from  the 
hand  of  obligation,  wounds  thee  like  a  scourge  of  scorpions. 

I  have  been  composing  in  the  fields  this  morning,  and  came  home 
to  write  down  the  first  rude  sheet  of  my  preface,  when  I  heard 
that  your  man  had  brought  a  note  from  you.  I  have  not  seen  it, 
but  I  guess  its  contents.  I  am  writing  as  fast  as  I  can.  Depend 
on  it  you  shall  not  be  out  of  pocket  for  me  !  I  feel  what  I  owe 
you,  and  independently  of  this,  I  love  you  as  a  friend ;  indeed,  so 
much,  that  I  regret,  seriously  regret,  that  you  have  been  my 
copyholder. 

If  I  have  written  petulantly,  forgive  me.  God  knows  lam 
sore  all  over.  God  bless  you,  and  believe  me  that,  setting  grati- 
tude aside,  I  love  and  esteem  you,  and  have  your  interest  at  heart 
full  as  much  as  my  own. 

^  S.  T.  Coleridge.'' 


REMINISCENCES   OP 


At  the  receipt  of  this  painful  letter,  which  made  me  smile  and 
sigh  at  the  same  moment,  my  first  care  was  to  send  the  young 
and  desponding  Bard  some  of  tlie  precious  metal,  to  cheer  his 
drooping  spirits  ;  to  inform  him  of  his  mistake  ;  and  to  renew  my 
invitation ;  which  was  accepted,  and  at  this  interview  he  was  as 
cheerful  as  ever.  He  saw  no  difference  in  my  countenance,  and 
I  perceived  none  in  his.  The  "  thick  cloud"  and  the  *'  thorn" 
had  completely  passed  away,  whilst  his  brilliant  conversation 
charmed  and  edified  the  friend  for  whose  sake  he  had  been 
invited. 

At  length  Mr.  Coleridge's  volume  of  poems  was  completed. 
On  the  blank  leaf  of  one  of  the  copies,  he  asked  for  a  pen,  and 
wrote  the  following : 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

On  the  blank  leaf  oT  my  poems,  I  can  most  appropriately  write 
my  acknowledgments  to  you,  for  your  too  disinterested  conduct 
in  the  purchase  of  them.  Indeed,  if  ever  they  should  acquire  a 
name  and  character,  it  might  be  truly  said,  the  world  owed  them 
to  you.  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  none  perhaps  of  them  woUld 
have  been  published,  and  some  not  written. 

Your  obliged  and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Bristol,  April  15,  1796. 

The  particulars  respecting  the  publication  of  Mr.  Coleridge's 
volume  of  Poems  have  been  continued  unbroken,  to  the  exclusion 
of  some  antecedent  circumstances,  which  will  now  be  noticed. 

If  it  were  my  object  to  give  a  fictitious,  and  not  a  real  character; 
to  remove,  scrupulously,  all  protuberances  that  interfered  with  the 
polish,  I  might  withhold  the  following  letter,  which  merely  shows 
the  solicitude  with  which  Mr.  C.  at  this  time,  regarded  small 
profits.  His  purse,  soon  after  his  return  to  Bristol,  being  rather 
low,  with  the  demands  on  it  increasing,  he  devised  an  ingenious, 
and  very  innocent  plan  for  replenishing  it,  in  a  small  way,  as  will 
thus  appear. 

*'  My  ever  dear  Cottle,  ^ 

Since  I  last  conversed  with  you  on  the  subject,  I  have  been 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  bZ 

thinking  over  again  the  plan  I  suggested  to  you,  concerning  the 
application  of  Count  Rumford's  plan  to  the  city  of  Bristol.  I 
have  arranged  in  my  mind  the  manner,  and  matter  of  the  pam- 
phlet, which  would  be  three  sheets,  and  might  be  priced  at  one 
shillmg. 

'  Considerations 

Addressed  to  the  Inhabitants  of  Bristol, 

on  a  subject  of  importance, 

(unconnected  with  PoUtics.) 

BY    S.    T.    C' 

Now  I  have  by  me  the  history  of  Birmingham,  and  the  history 
of  Manchester.     By  observing  the  names,  revenues,  and  expendi- 
tures of  their  different  charities,  I  could  easily  alter  the  calcula- 
tions of  the  "  Bristol  Address,"  and,  at  a  trifling  expense,  and  a  ' 
few  variations,  thd  same  work  mioht  be  sent  to  Manchester  and 

Birminofham.     '  Cohsiderations    addressed   to  the  inhabitants  of 

.  *^ 

Birmingham,'  &c.     I  could  so  order  it,  that  by  writing  to  a  par- 

tidular  friend,  at  both  places,  the  pamphlet  should  be  thought  to 
have  been  written  areach  place,  as  it  certainly  would  be  for  each 
place.  I  think,  therefore,  750  might  be  printed  in  all.  Now  will 
you  undertake  this  ?  either  to  print  it  and  divide  the  profits,  or 
(which  indeed  I  should  prefer)  would  you  give  me  three  guineas 
for  the  copy-right  ?  I  would  give  you  the  first  sheet  on  Thurs- 
day, the  second  on  the  Monday  following,  the  third  on  the  Thurs- 
day following.  To  each  pamphlet  I  would  annex  the  alterations 
to  be  made,  when  the  press  was  stopped  at  250/^' 

God  love  you ! 

S.  T.  C." 

Mr.  Coleridge  used  occasionally  to  regret,  with  even  pungency 
of  feeling,  that  he  had  no  relation  in  the  world,  to  whom,  in  a  time 
of  extremity,  he  could  apply  "for  a  little  assistance."  Reap- 
peared like  a  being  dropped  from  the  clouds,  without  tie  or  con- 
nection on  earth ;  and  during  the  years  in  which  I  knew  him,  he 
never  once  visited  any  one  of  his  relations,  nor  exchanged  a  letter 
with  them.  It  used  to  fill  myself  and  others  with  concern  and 
astonishment,  that  such  a  man  should,  apparently,  be  abandoned. 

*  I  presented  Mr.  C.  with  the  three  guineas,  but  forebore  the  publication. 


54  REMINISCENCES    OF 

On  some  occasions  I  urged  him  to  break  through  all  impediments, 
and  go  and  visit  his  friends  at  Ottery ;  this  his  high  spirit  could 
not  brook.  I  tlien  pressed  him  to  dedicate  his  Poems  to  one  of 
his  relatives,  liis  brother  George,  of  whom  he  occasionally  spoke 
with  peculiar  kindness.  He  was  silent ;  but  some  time  after,  he 
said  in  a  letter,  "  You,  I  am  sure,  will  be  glad  to  learn,  that  I  shall 
follow  your  advice." 

In  the  poem  which  thus  arose,  what  can  be  more  touching  than 
these  lines  in  his  dedication  to  his  brother  ?     (Second  edition.) 

"  To  me  the  Eternal  Wisdom  hath  dispensed 
A  different  fortune,  and  more  different  mind — 
Me  from  the  spot  where  first  I  sprang  to  Hght 
Too  soon  transplanted,  ere  my  soul  had  fixed 
Its  first  domestic  loves ;  and  hence  through  life 
Chasing  chance-started  friendships,     A  brief  while, 
Some  have  preserved  me  from  life's  pelting  ills." 

In  certain  features  of  their  character,  there  wa-s  a  stronof  resem- 
blance  between  Chatterton  and  S.  T.  Coleridge,  with  a  reverse  in 
some  points,  for  Chatterton  was  loved  and  cherished  by  his  family, 
but  neglected  by  the  world.  In  the  agony  of  mind  which  Mr.  C. 
sometimes  manifested  on  this  subject,  I  have  wished  to  forget 
those  four  tender  lines  in  his  Monody  on  Chatterton. 

''  Poor  Chatterton  !  farewell !     Of  darkest  hues, 
This  chaplet  cast  I  on  thy  unshaped  tomb : 
But  dare  no  longer  on  the  sad  theme  muse, 
Lest  kindred  woes  persuade  a  kindred  doom  ! " 

Mr.  C.  would  not  have  felt  so  much,  if  his  own  natural  and  un- 
shaken affections  had  been  less  ardent. 

Before  I  enter  on  an  important  incident  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  Bris- 
tol life,  I  must  previously  observe,  that  his  mind  was  in  a  singular 
degree  distinguished  for  the  habit  of  projecting.  ]N'ew  projects 
and  plans,  at  this  time,  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession, 
and  while  the  vividness  of  the  impression  lasted,  the  very  comple- 
tion could  scarcely  have  afforded  more  satisfaction  than  the  vague 
design.  To  project,  with  him,  was  commonly  sufficient.  The  ex- 
ecution, of  so  much  consequence,  in  the  estimation  of  others,  with 


8.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.         55 

him  was  a  secondary  point.  I  remember  him  once  to  have  read 
to  me,  from  his  pocket-book,  q,  hst  of  eighteen  different  works 
which  he  had  resolved  to  write,  and  several  of  them  in  quarto, 
not  one  of  which  he  ever  eff'ected.  At  the  top  of  the  list  appeared 
the  word  "  Pantisocracy !  4to."  Each  of  these  works,  he  could 
have  talked,  (for  he  often  poured  forth  as  much  as  half  an  8vo. 
volume  in  a  single  evening,  and  that  in  language  sufficiently  pure 
and  connected  to  admit  of  publication,)  but  talking- merely  benefits 
the  few,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  many.  The  work  that  apparentl}'- 
advanced  the  nearest  to  completion,  was  "  Translations  of  the 
modern  Latin  Poets ;"  tAvo  vols.  8vo.  Tins  work,  whicli  no  man 
could  better  have  accomplished  than  himself,  he  so  far  proceeded 
in,  as  to  allow  of  the  Proposals  being  issued.  It  was  to  be  pub- 
lished by  subscription,  and  he  brought  witli  him  from  Cambridge 
a  very  respectable  list  of  university  subscribers.  His  excuses  for 
not  showing  any  part  of  the  work,  justified  the  suspicion  that  he 
had  not  advanced  in  it  further  than  these  said  *'  Proposals." 

Another  prominent  feature  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  mind,  was  pro- 
crastination. It  is  not  to  be  supposed  tliat  he  ever  made  a  promise 
or  entered  on  an  engagement  Avithout  intending  to  fulfil  it,  but 
none  who  knew  him  could  deny  that  he  wanted  much  of  that 
steady,  persevering  determination  w^hich  is  the  precursor  of  suc- 
cess, and  the  parent  of  all  great  actions.  His  strongest  intentions 
were  feebly  supported  after  the  first  paroxysms  of  resolve,  so  that 
any  judicious  friend  would  strenuously  have  dissuaded  him  from 
an  undertaking  that  involved  a  race  with  time.  Mr.  Coleridge, 
however,  differently  regarded  his  mental  constitution,  and  pro- 
jected at  this  time  a  periodical  miscellany,  called  ^'  The  Watch- 
man." 

When  the  thought  of  this  magazine  first  suggested  itself  to  his 
mind,  he  convened  his  chief  friends  one  evening  at  the  Rummer 
Tavern,  to  determine  on  the  size,  price,  and  time  of  publishing, 
with  all  other  preliminaries,  essential  to  the  launching  this  first- 
rate  vessel  on  the  mighty  deep.  Having  heard  of  the  circumstance 
the  next  day,  I  rather  wondered  at  not  having  also  been  requested 
to  attend,  and  while  ruminating  on  the  subject,  I  received  from 
Mr.  C.  the  followino^  communication. 


56  REMINISCENCES    OF 

"  My  dear  Friend, 

I  am  fearful  that  you  felt  hurt  at  my  not  mentioning  to  you  the 
proposed  '  Watchman,'  and  from  my  not  requesting  you  to  attend 
the  meeting.  My  dear  friend,  my  reasons  were  these.  All  who 
met  were  expected  to  become  subscribers  to  a  fund ;  I  knew  there 
would  be  enough  without  you,  and  I  knew,  and  felt,  how  much 
money  had  been  drawn  from  you  lately. 

God  Almighty  love  you ! 

S.  T,  C." 

In  a  fev,^  days  the  following  prospectus  of  the  new  work  was 
circulated  far  and  near. 

"  To  supply  at  once  the  places  of  a  Review,  Newspaper,  and  Annual  Reg- 
ister. 

On  Tuesday,  the  1st  of  March,  179G,  will  be  published.  No.  1,  price  four- 
pence,  of  a  Miscellany,  to  be  continued  every  eighth  day,  under  the  name  of 

THE  WATCHMAiSr, 

EY  SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 

This  Miscellany  will  be  comprised  in  two  sheets,  or  thirty-two  pages,  closely 
printed  in  8vo.  the  type,  long  primmer. 

ITS    CONTENTS, 

1st.  A  history  of  the  Domestic  and  Foreign  Policy  of  the  preceding  days. 

2d.  The  Speeches  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  during  the  recess. 
Select  Parliamentary  Speeches,  from  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  First,  to  the  present  Era,  with  Notes,  Historical  and  Biograph- 
ical. 

3d.  Original  Essays  and  Poetry. 

4th.  Review  of  interesting  and  important  Publications. 

ITS    ADVANTAGES. 

First.  There  being  no  Advertisements,  a  greater  quantity  of  Original  matter 
will  be  given,  and  the  Speeches  in  Parliament  v^ill  be  less  abridged. 

Second.  From  its  form,  it  ma}^  be  bound  up  at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  be- 
come an  Annual  Register. 

Third.  This  last  circumstance  may  induce  men  of  letters  to  prefer  this  mis- 
cellany to  more  perishable  publications  as  the  vehicle  of  their  effusions. 

Fourth.  Whenever  the  Ministerial  and  Opposition  Prints  differ  in  their  ac- 
counts of  occurrences,  &c.,  such  difference  will  always  be  faithfully  stated." 

Of  all  men,  Mr.  Coleridge  was  the  least  qualified  to  display 
periodical  industry.     Many  of  his  cooler  friends  entertained  from 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHED.  57 

the  beginning  no  sanguine  expectations  of  success,  but  now  that 
the  experiment  was  fairly  to  be  tried,  they  united  with  him  in 
making  every  exertion  to  secure  it. 

As  a  magazine  it  was  worth  nothing  without  purchasers.  Bristol 
was  the  strong-hold,  where  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  sub- 
scribers were  obtained  by  myself,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty 
by  Mr.  Read.  These  were  insufficient.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
A  bold  measure  was  determined  upon.  Mr.  Coleridge,  conceiving 
that  his  means  of  subsistence  depended  upon  the  success  of  this 
undertaking,  armed  himself  Avith  uuAvonted  resolution,  and  ex- 
pressed his  determination  to  travel  over  half  England  and  take 
the  posse  comitatus  by  storm. 

In  conformity  with  such  resolution,  he  obtained  letters  of  in- 
troduction to  influential  men  in  the  respective  towns  he  meant  to 
visit,  and,  like  a  shrewd  calculator,  determined  to  add  the  parson's 
avocation  to  that  of  the  political  pamphleteer.  The  beginning  of 
Jan.  1796,  Mr.  Coleridge,  laden  Avith  recommendatory  epistles, 
and  rich  in  hope,  set  out  on  his  eventful  journey,  and  visited  in 
succession,  Worcester,  Birmingham,  Nottingham,  Lichfield,  Derby, 
Manchester,  Sheffield,  Liverpool,  (fee.  and  as  a  crowning  achieve- 
ment, at  the  last,  paid  his  respects  to  the  great  metropohs  ;  in  all 
which  places,  by  bills,  prospectuses,  advertisements,  and  other 
expedients,  the  reading  public  v/ere  duly  apprised  of  the  "  New 
Review,  Newspaper,  and  Annual  Register,"  about  to  be  pub- 
lished. 

The  good  people,  in  all  the  towns  through  which  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge passed,  were  electrified  by  his  extraordinary  eloquence.  At 
this  time,  and  during  the  vrhole  of  his  residence  in  Bristol,  there 
was,  in  the  strict  sense,  little  of  the  true,  interchangeable  conver- 
sation in  Mr.  C.  On  almost  every  subject  on  which  he  essayed 
to  speak,  he  made  an  impassioned  harangue  of  a  quarter,  or  half 
an  hour;  so  that  inveterate  talkers,  while  Mr.  Coleridge  was  on 
the  wing,  generally  suspended  their  own  flight,  and  felt  it  almost 
a  profanation  to  interrupt  so  impressive  and  mellifluous  a  speaker. 
This  singular,  if  not  happy  peculiarity,  occasioned  even  Madame 
de  Stael  to  remark  of  Mr.  C.  that  *'  He  was  rich  in  a  Monologue, 
but  poor  in  a  Dialogue." 

From   the   brilliant  volubility  before  noticed,  admiration  and 


58  REMINISCENCES    OF 

astonishment  followed  Mr.  C.  like  a  shadow,  through  the  whole 
course  of  his  peregrinations.  This  new  "  Review,  Newspaper, 
and  Annual  Register,"  was  largely  patronized  ;  for  who  would 
not  give  fourpence  every  eighth  day,  to  be  furnished,  by  so  com- 
petent a  man  as  Mr.  Coleridge,  with  this  quintessence,  this  con- 
centration of  all  that  was  valuable,  in  Politics,  Criticism,  and 
Literature ;  enriched  in  addition,  with  Poetry  of  the  first  waters, 
luminous  Essays,  and  other  effusions  of  men  of  letters  ?  So 
choice  a  morgeau  was  the  very  thing  that  everybody  wanted  ;  and, 
in  the  course  of  his  journey,  subscriptions  poured  in  to  the  extent 
of  one  thousand  ;  and  Mr.  C.  on  his  return,  after  what  might  be 
called  a  triumph,  discovered  the  elasticity  of  his  spirit ;  smiling 
at  past  depressions,  and  now,  on  solid  ground,  anticipating  ease, 
wealth,  and  fame. 

The  first  of  March  arrived.  The  "  Watchman"  was  published. 
Although  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  contributing  to  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge's fund,  I  determined  to  assist  him  in  other  ways,  and  that 
far  more  effectually.  On  the  publication  of  the  first  Number, 
besides  my  trouble  in  sending  round  to  many  subscribers, — with 
all  the  intense  earnestness  attending  the  transaction  of  the  most 
weighty  concerns,  it  occupied  Mr.  Coleridge  and  myself  four  full 
hours  to  arrange,  reckon,  (each  pile  being  counted  by  Mr.  C.  after 
myself,  to  be  quite  satisfied  that  there  was  no  extra  3^d.  one 
slipped  in  unawares,)  pack  up,  and  write  invoices  and  letters  for 
the  London  and  country  customers,  all  expressed  thus,  in  the  true 
mercantile  style  : 

Bristol,  March  1st,  1796. 
Mr.  Pritchard,  (Derby) 

Dr.  to  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 
To  73  No.   1   of  the  Watchman     .  .  .     3id.     ...     £l      1     3i 

This  routine  was  repeated  with  every  fresh  number.  My  part 
was  zealously  and  cheerfully  discharged,  with  the  encouraging 
hope  that  it  would  essentially  serve  my  anxious  and  valued  friend. 
But  all  would  net  do  ! 

A  feeling  of  disappointment  prevailed  early  and  pretty  gener- 
ally, amongst  the  subcribers.  The  Prospectus  promised  too 
much.     In  the  Review  department,  no  one  article  appeared  em- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  59 

bodying  any  high  order  of  talent.  The  Newspaper  section  pleased 
no  one,  from  the  confined  limits  to  which  the  editor  was  restricted, 
independently  of  which,  nearly  all  the  subscribers  had  seen  the 
Debates  in  their  length,  through  other  mediums ;  and  yet  this 
profitless  part  of  the  work  gave  most  trouble  to  the  compiler.  Its 
dulness,  I  know,  fretted  Mr.  Coleridge  exceedingly.* 

The  theory  of  publishing  was  delightful ;  but  the  exemplifica- 
tion— ^the  practice,  proved,  alas !  teasing,  if  not  tormenting.  One 
pitiful  subscriber  of  fourpence,  every  eighth  day,  thought  his  boys 
did  not  improve  much  under  it.  Another  expected  more  from 
his  "Annual  Register  !"  Another  wanted  more  Reviews!  An- 
other, more  Politics  !  and  those  a  little  sharper.  As  the  work 
proceeded,  joys  decreased,  and  perplexities  multiplied  !  added  to 
which,  subscribers  rapidly  fell  oflf,  debts  were  accumulated  and 
unpaid,  till  at  the  Tenth  Number,  the  Watchman  at  the  helm 
cried  "  Breakers,  "  and  the  vessel  stranded  ! — It  being  formally 
announced,  that  "  The  work  did  not  pay  its  expenses !" 

The  "  Address  to  the  readers  of  the  Watchman,''  in  the  last 
page,  was  the  following  : 

"  This  is  the  last  Number  of  the  Watchman. — Henceforward  I  shall  cease 
to  cry  the  state  of  the  Political  atmosphere.  While  I  express  my  gratitude  to 
those  friends  who  exerted  themselves  so  liberally  in  the  establishment  of  this 
Miscellany,  I  may  reasonably  be  expected  to  assign  some  reason  for  relin- 
quishing it  thus  abruptly.  The  reason  is  short  and  satisfactory. — The  work 
does  not  pay  its  expenses.  Part  of  my  subscribers  have  relinquished  it,  be- 
cause it  did  not  contain  sufficient  original  composition ;  and  a  still  larger 
number,  because  it  contained  too  much.  Those  who  took  it  in  as  a  mere 
journal  of  weekly  events,  must  have  been  unacquainted  with  'Flower's 

*  I  received  a  note,  at  this  time,  from  Mr.  Coleridge,  evidently  written  in  a 
moment  of  perturbation,  apologizing  for  not  accepting  an  invitation  of  a  more 
congenial  nature,  on  account  of  his  "  Watch  drudgery."  At  another  time,  he 
was  reluctantly  made  a  prisoner  from  the  same  cause,  as  will  appear  by  the 
following  note. 
''  My  dear  Cottle,  April,  1796. 

My  eye  is  so  inflamed  that  I  cannot  stir  out.     It  is  alarmingly  inflamed. 
In  addition  to  this,  the  Debates  which  Burnet  undertook  to  abridge  for  me,  he 
has  abridged  in  such  a  careless,  slovenly  manner,  that  I  was  obliged  to  throw 
them  into  the  fire,  and  am  now  doing  them  myself! 
♦     *     *     ♦  S.  T.  C." 


60  REMINISCENCES    OF 

Cambridge  Intelligkncer;'  a  Newspaper,  the  style  and  composition  of 
which  would  claim  distinguished  praise,  even  among  the  productions  of  liter- 
ary leisure  ;  while  it  breathes  everywhere  the  severest  morality ;  fighting  fear- 
lessly the  good  fight  against  tyranny,  yet  never  unfaithful  to  that  religion, 
whose  service  is  perfect  freedom.  Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  expected 
from  it  much  and  varied  original  composition,  have  naturally  relinquished  it  in 
favor  of  the  '  New  Monthly  Magazine  ;'  a  work  which  has  almost  monopo- 
lized the  talent  of  the  country,  and  with  which  I  should  have  continued  a 
course  of  literary  rivalship,  with  as  much  success  as  might  be  expected  to  at- 
tend a  young  recruit,  who  should  oppose  himself  to  a  phalanx  of  disciplined 
warriors.  Long  may  it  continue  to  deserve  the  support  of  the  patriot  and  the 
philanthropist;  and  while  it  teaches  its  readers  rational  liberty,  prepare 
them  for  the  enjoyment  of  it;  strengthening  the  intellect  by  science,  and  soft- 
ening our  affections  by  the  graces  !  To  return  to  myself  I  have  endeavored 
to  do  well :  and  it  must  be  attributed  to  defect  of  ability,  not  of  inclination  or 
effort,  if  the  words  of  the  Prophet  be  altogether  applicable  to  me. 

"  O,  Watchman  !  thou  hast  watched  in  vain." 

Many  readers  will  feel  a  concern  in  the  arrangements  and  per- 
plexities of  Mr.  Coleridge  at  the  time  of  publishing  his  "  Watch- 
man ;"  for  he  had  a  more  vital  interest  involved  in  the  success  of 
that  work  than  he  had,  individually,  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  empires. 
"When  he  returned  from  his  northern  journey  laden  with  sub- 
scribers, and  with  hope  ripened  into  confidence,  all  that  had  yet 
been  done  was  the  mere  scaffolding ;  the  building  was  now  to  be 
erected.  Soon  after  this  time  I  received  from  Mr.  Coleridge  the 
following  letter. 

*'My  ever  dear  Cottle,  1796. 

I  will  wait  on  you  this  evening  at  9  o'clock,  till  which  hour  I 
am  on  "Watch."  Your  Wednesday's  invitation  I  of  course  ac- 
cept, but  I  am  rather  sorry  that  you  should  add  this  expense  to 
former  liberalities. 

Two  editions  of  my  Poems  would  barely  repay  you.  Is  it  not 
possible  to  get  twenty-five,  or  thirty  of  the  Poems  ready  by  to- 
morrow, as  Parsons,  of  Paternoster  Row,  has  written  to  me 
pressingly  about  them.  *  People  are  perpetually  asking  after 
them.'  All  admire  the  Poetry  in  the  '  Watchman ;'  he  says,  I 
can  send  them  with  one  hundred  "  of  the  First  IS'umber,"  which 
he  has  written  for.  I  think  if  you  were  to  send  half  a  dozen 
*  Joans  of  Arc,'  [4to.  £l.  1.  0]  on  sale  or  return,  it  would  not  be 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   A?<D    R.    SOUTHEV.  61 

amiss.  To  all  the  places  in  the  North,  vve  will  send  my  'Poems,' 
my  'Conciones,'  and  the  'Joans  of  Arc,'  together,  per  waggon. 
You  shall  pay  the  carriage  for  the  London  and  the  Birmingham 
parcels  ;  I  for  the  Slieffield,  Derby,  Nottingham,  Manchester,  and 
Liverpool. 

With  regard  to  the  Poems  I  mean  to  give  away,  I  wish  to 
make  it  a  common  interest ;  that  is,  I  will  give  away  a  sheet  full 
of  Sonnets.  One  to  Mrs.  Barbauld ;  one  to  Wakefield ;  one  to 
Dr.  Beddoes ;  one  to  Wrangham,  (a  College  acquaintance  of 
mine,  an  admirer  of  me,  and  a  pitier  of  my  principles  !)  one  to 
George  Augustus  Pollen,  Esq.  one  to  C.  Lamb ;  one  to  Words- 
worth ;  one  to  my  brother  G.  and  one  to  Dr.  Parr.  These 
Sonnets  I  mean  to  write  on  the  blank  leaf,  respectively,  of  each 
copy.^' 

Concerning  the  paper  for  the  '  Watchman,'  I  was  vexed  to  hear 
your  proposal  of  trusting  it  to  Biggs,  who,  if  he  undertook  it  at 
all,  would  have  a  profit,  which  heaven  knows,  I  cannot  afford. 
My  plan  was,  either  that  you  should  write  to  your  paper-maker, 
saying  that  you  had  recommended  him  to  me,  and  ordering  for 
me  twenty  or  forty  reams,  at  a  half  year's  credit ;  or  else,  in  your 
own  name  ;  in  which  case  I  would  transfer  to  you,  Reed'sf  weekly 
account,  amounting  to  120  3^d's,  (or  35  shillings),  and  the  Bir- 
mingham monthly  account,  amounting  to  £14.  a  month. 

God  bless  you, 

and  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

This  letter  requires  a  few  explanations.  In  recommending  that 
Biggs,  the  printer,  should  choose  the  paper,  it  was  not  designed 
for  him  to  provide  it,  which,  had  he  been  so  requested,  he  would 
not  have  done,  but  merely  to  select  one,  out  of  different  samples 
to  be  submitted  to  him,  as  that  which  he,  as  a  printer,  thought 
the  best.  This  was  explained  to  Mr.-  C.  It  will  be  perceived, 
that  Mr.  Coleridge's  two  proposals  w^ere  virtually  one :  as,  if  I 
ordered  the  paper  for  myself  or  for  another,  the  responsibility 
would  rest  w^th  me.     The  plain  fact  is,  I  purchased  the  whole  of 

*  This  "  sheet"  of  Sonnets  never  arrived. 

t  A  late  worthy  bookseller  of  Bristol,  who  by  his  exertions  obtained  one 
hundred  and  twenty  subscribers  for  Mr.  C. 


62  REMINISCENCES   OF 


the  paper  for  the  "  Watchman,"  allowing  Mr.  C.  to  have  it  at 
prime  cost,  and  receiving  small  sums  from  him  occasionally,  in 
liquidation.  I  became  responsible,  also,  to  Mr.  B.for  printing  the 
work,  by  which  means  I  reduced  the  price  per  sheet,  as  a  book- 
seller, (1000)  from  fifty  shillings  to  thirty  five  shillings.  Mr.  C. 
paid  me  for  the  paper  in  fractions,  as  he  found  it  convenient,  but 
from  the  falling  ofi*  of  his  own  receipts,  I  never  received  the 
whole.  It  was  a  losing  concern  altogether,  and  I  was  willing  to 
bear,  uncomplaining,  my  proportion  of  the  loss.  There  is  some 
difference  between  this  statement,  and  that  of  Mr.  Coleridge  in 
his  "  Biographia  Literaria."*  A  defect  of  memory  must  have 
existed,  arising  out  of  the  lapse  of  twenty  two  years  ;  but  my 
notices,  made  at  that  time,  did  not  admit  of  mistake. 

My  loss  was  also  augmented  from  another  cause.  Mr.  C. 
states  in  the  above  work,  that  his  London  publisher  never  paid 
him  "  one  farthing,"  but  ''  set  him  at  defiance."  I  also  was 
more  than  his  equal  companion  in  this  misfortune.  The  thirty 
copies  of  Mr.  C.*s  poems,  and  the  six  "Joans  of  Arc"  (referred 
to  in  the  preceding  letter)  found  a  ready  sale,  by  this  said  "  in- 
defatigable London  publisher,"  and  large  and  fresh  orders  were 
received,  so  that  Mr.  Coleridge  and  myself  participated  in  two 
very  opposite  feelings,  the  onp  of  exultation  that  our  publications 
had  found  so  good  a  sale  ;  and  the  other  of  depression,  that  the 
time  of  payment  never  arrived  ! 

All  the  copies  also,  of  Mr.  C.'s  Poems,  and  the  "  Joan's  of 
Arc,"  which  were  sent  to  the  North,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
shared  the  same  fate.  I  do  not  know  that  they  were  ever  paid 
for.  If  they  were,  in  combination  with  other  things,  it  was  my 
wish  that  the  entanglement  should  never  be  unravelled,  for  who 
could  take  from  Mr.  C.  any  portion  of  his  slender  remittances. 

The  most  amusing  appendage  to  this  unfortunate  "  Miscellany," 

*  "  My  Bristol  printer  of  the  Watchman  refused  to  wait  a  month  for  his 
money,  and  threatened  to  throw  me  into  jail  for  between  eighty  and  ninety 
pounds;  when  the  money  was  paid  by  a  friend" — Biographia  Literaria. 
Mr.  C.'s  memory  was  here  grievously  defective.  The  fact  is,  Biggs  the  printer 
(a  worthy  man)  never  threatened  nor  even  importuned  for  his  money.  In- 
stecid  also  o^ nine  numbers  of  the  Watchman,  there  were  t€n\  and  the  print- 
ing of  these  ten  numbers  came  but  to  thirty  five  pounds.  The  whole  of  the 
Paper  (which  cost  more  than  the  Printing)  was  paid  for  by  the  Writer. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  63 

will  now  be  presented  to  the  reader,  in  the  seven  following  letters 
of  Mr.  Coleridge,  addressed  to  his  friend  Mr.  Josiah  Wade,  and 
written  in  the  progress  of  his  journey  to  collect  subscribers  for 
the  "Watchman." 

*' Worcester,  Jan.  lY96. 
My  dear  Wade, 

We  were  five  in  number,  and  twenty-five  in  quantity.  The 
moment  I  entered  the  coach,  I  stumbled  on* a  huge  projection, 
which  might  be  called  a  belly,  with  the  same  propriety  that  you 
might  name  Mount  Atlas  a  mole-hill.  Heavens !  that  a  man 
should  be  unconscionable  enough  to  enter  a  stage  coach,  who 
would  want  elbow  room  if  he  were  walking  on  Salisbury  Plain ! 

This  said  citizen  was  a  most  violent  aristocrat,  but  a  pleasant  hu- 
morous fellow  in  other  respects,  and  remarkably  well-informed  in 
agricultural  science :  so  that  the  time  passed  pleasantly  enough. 
We  arrived  at  Worcester  at  half-past  two :  I  of  course  dined  at 
the  inn,  where  I  met  Mr.  Stevens.  After  dinner  I  christianized 
myself;  that  is,  washed  and  changed,  and  marched  in  finery  and 
cleanliness  to  High-Street.  With  regard  to  business,  there  is  no 
chance  of  doing  anything  at  Worcester.  The  aristocrats  are  so 
numerous,  and  the  influence  of  the  clergy  so  extensive,  that  Mr. 
Barr  thinks  no  bookseller  will  venture  to  publish  the  "  Watchman." 

P.S.  I  hope  and  trust  that  the  young  citizeness  is  well,  and 
also  Mrs.  Wade.  Give  my  love  to  the  latter,  and  a  kiss  for  me 
to  little  Miss  Bratinella.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

''Birmingham,  Jan.  1796. 
My  dear  friend, 

*  *  *  My  exertions  have  been  incessant,  for  in  whatever 
company  I  go,  I  am  obliged  to  be  the  figurante  of  the  circle. 
Yesterday  I  preached  twice,  and,  indeed,  performed  the  whole 
service,  morning  and  afternoon.  There  were  about  fourteen  hun- 
dred persons  present,  and  my  sermons  (great  part  extempore) 
were  preciously  peppered  with  Politics.  I  have  here,  at  least, 
double  the  number  of  subscribers,  I  iftd  expected.     *     *     *" 

"Nottingham,  Jan.  Y,  1Y96. 
My  dear  friend, 

You  will  have  perceived  by  this  letter  I  have  changed  my  route. 


64  REMINISCENCES    OF 


From  Birmingham,  on  Friday  last,  (four  o'clock  in  the  moraing,) 
I  proceeded  to  Derby,  stayed  there  till  Monday  morning,  and  am 
now  at  Nottingham.  From  Nottingham  I  go  to  Sheffield  ;  from 
Sheffield  to  Manchester;  from  Manchester  to  Liverpool?  from 
Liverpool  to  London,  from  London  to  Bristol  ?  Ah,  what  a 
weary  way !  My  poor  crazy  ark  has  been  tossed  to  and  fro  on 
an  ocean  of  business,  and  I  long  for  the  mount  Ararat  on  which 
it  is  to  rest.  At  Birmingham  I  was  extremely  unwell ;  a  violent 
cold  in  my  head  an4  limbs  confined  me  for  two  days.  Business 
succeeded  ^-ery  well ;  about  a  hundred  subscribers,  I  think. 

At  Derby,  also,  I  succeeded  tolerably  well.  Mr.  Strutt,  the 
successor  of  Sir  Richard  Arkwright,  tells  me,  I  may  count  on 
forty  or  fifty  in  Derby.  Derby  is  full  of  curiosities  ;  the  cotton 
and  silk  mills ;  Wright,  the  painter,  and  Dr.  Darwin,  the  every- 
thing but  christian !  Dr.  Darwin  possesses,  perhaps,  a  greater 
range  of  knov/ledge  than  any  other  man  in  Europe,  and  is  the 
most  inventive  of  philosophical  men.  He  thinks  in  a  new  train 
on  all  subjects  but  religion.  He  bantered  me  on  the  subject  of 
religion.  I  heard  all  his  arguments,  and  told  him,  it  w^as  infinitely 
consoling  to  me — to  find  that  the  arguments  of  so  great  a  man, 
adduced  against  the  existence  of  a  God  and  the  evidences  of  re- 
vealed religion,  were  such  as  had  startled  me  at  fifteen,  but  had 
become  the  objects  of  my  smile  at  twenty.  Not  one  new  objec- 
tion ;  not  even  an  ingenious  one  !  He  boasted  '  that  he  had 
never  read  one  book  in  favor  of  such  stuff !  but  that  he  had  read 
all  the  works  of  infidels.' 

What  would  you  think,  Mr.  Wade,  of  a  man,  who  having 
abused  and  ridiculed  you,  should  openly  declare,  that  he  had 
heard  all  that  your  enemies  had  to  say  against  you,  but  had 
scorned  to  inquire  the  truth  from  any  one  of  your  friends  ? 
Would  you  think  him  an  honest  man  ?  I  am  sure  you  would  not. 
Yet  such  are  all  the  infidels  whom  I  have  known.  They  talk  of 
a  subject,  yet  are  proud  to  confess  themselves  profoundly  ignorant 
of  it.  Dr.  Darwin  would  have  been  ashamed  to  reject  '  Hutton's 
Theory  of  the  Earth,'  withmit  having  minutely  examined  it :  yet 
what  is  it  to  us,  how  the  earth  was  made,  a  thing  impossible  to 
be  known.  This  system  the  Dr.  did  not  reject  without  having 
severely  studied  it ;  but  all  at  once  he  makes  up  his  mind  on  such 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  65 


important  subjects,  as,  whether  we  be  the  outcasts  of  a  bhnd 
idiot,  called  Nature,  or  tlie  children  of  an  All- wise  and  Infinitely 
Good  God !  Whether  we  spend  a  few  miserable  years  on  this 
earth,  and  then  sink  into  a  clod  of  the  valley  ;  or,  endure  the  anx- 
ieties of  mortal  life,  only  to  fit  us  for  the  enjoyment  of  immiortal 
happiness.  These  subjects  are  unworthy  a  philosopher's  investi- 
gation !  He  deems  that  there  is  a  certain  self-evidence  in  Infidel- 
ity, and  becomes  an  Atheist  by  intuition  !  Well  did  St.  Paul  say, 
'Ye  have  an  evil  heart  of  unbelief.' 

"*=  ^  *  What  lovely  children  'Mr.  Earr,  of  Worcester  has ! 
After  church,  in  the  evening,  they  sat  round  and  sung  hymns,  so 
sw^eetly  that  they  overpowered  me.  It  was  v.ith  great  difficulty 
that  I  abstained  from  weeping  aloud  !  and  the  infant,  in  Mrs.  B's. 
arms,  leant  forward,  and  stretched  his  little  arms,  and  stared,  and 
smiled  !  It  seem.ed  a  picture  of  heaven,  where  the  different  or- 
ders of  the  blessed,  join  different  voices  in  one  melodious  halle- 
lulia !  and  the  babe  like  a  young  spirit  just  that  moment  arrived 
in  heaven,  startled  at  the  seraphic  songs,  and  seized  at  once  w4th 
wonder  and  rapture  1     ^'^     ^     * 

From  your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge.*' 

-Sheffield,  Jan.  1796. 
My  very  dear  friend, 

I  arrived  at  this  place,  late  last  night,  by  the  mail  from  Notting- 
ham, where  I  have  been  treated  with  kindness  and  friendship,  of 
which  I  can  give  you  but  a  faint  idea.  I  preached  a  charity  ser- 
mon there  last  Sunday  ;  I  preached  in  colored  clothes.  With  re- 
gard to  the  gown  at  Birmingham  (of  which  you  inquire)  I  suffered 
myself  to  be  over-persuaded  : — first  of  all,  my  sermon  being  of 
so  political  a  tendency,  had  I  w^orn  my  blue  coat,  it  w^ould  have 
impugned  Edwards.  They  w^ould  have  said,  he  had  stuck  a  po- 
litical lecturer  in  his  pulpit.  Secondly, — the  society  is  of  all  sorts. 
Unitarians,  Arians,  Trinitarians,  &c.  !  and  I  must  have  shocked  a 
multitude  of  prejudices.  And  thirdly, — there  is  a  difference  be- 
tween an  Inn,  and  a  place  of  residence.  In  the  first,  your  exam- 
ple, is  of  little  consequence ;  in  a  single  instance  only,  it  ceases  to 
operate  as  example ;  and  my  refusal  Avould  have  been  imputed  to 


66  REMINISCENCES   OF 

affectation,  or  an  imaccommodating  spirit.  Assuredly  I  would  not 
do  it  in  a  place  where  I  intended  to  preach  often.  And  even  in 
the  vestry  at  Birmingham,  wlien  they  at  last  persuaded  me,  I  told 
them,  I  was  acting  against  my  better  knowledge,  and  should  pos- 
sibly feel  uneasy  after.  So  these  accounts  of  the  matter  you 
must  consider  as  reasons  and  palliations,  concluding,  '  I  plead 
guilty  my  Lord  f  Indeed  I  want  firmness.  I  perceive  I  do.  I 
have  that  within  me  which  makes  it  difficult  to  say,  No  !  (repeat- 
edly) to  a  number  of  persons  who  seem  uneasy  and  anxious.  ^  * 
My  kind  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Wade.  God  bless  her,  and 
you,  and  (like  a  bad  shilling  slipped  in  between  two  guineas) 
Your  faithful  and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  course  of  his  extensive  journey,  having 
had  to  act  the  tradesman  on  rather  an  extended  scale ;  conferring 
and  settling  with  all  the  booksellers  in  the  respective  towns,  as  to 
the  means  of  conveyance,  allowance,  remittances,  &c.,  he  thus 
wrote  in  a  dejected  mood,  to  his  friend  Mr.  Wade, — an  unpropi- 
tious  state  of  mind  for  a  new  enterprise,  and  very  different  from 
those  sanguine  hopes  which  he  had  expressed  on  other  occasions. 

**  My  dear  friend, 

*  "^'^  *  I  succeeded  very  well  here  at  Litchfield.  Belcher, 
bookseller,  Birmingham  ;  Sutton,  Nottingham. ;  Pritchard,  Der- 
by ;  and  Thomson,  ]\Ianchester,  are  the  publishers.  In  every 
number  of  the  '  Watchman,'  there  will  be  printed  these  words, 
*  Published  in  Bristol,  by  the  Author,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  and  sold, 
&c.,  &c. 

I  verily  believe  no  poor  fellow's  idea-pot  ever  bubbled  up  so 
vehemently  with  fears,  doubts  and  difficulties,  as  mine  does  at 
present.  Heaven  grant  it  may  not  boil  over,  and  put  out  the 
fire !  I  am  almost  heartless !  My  past  life  seems  to  me  like  a 
dream,  a  feverish  dream  !  all  ^one  gloomy  huddle  of  strange  ac- 
tions, and  dim-discovered  motives !  Friendships  lost  by  indo- 
lence, and  happiness  murdered  by  mismanaged  sensibility !  The 
present  hour  I  seem  in  a  quickset  hedge  of  embarrassments  !  For 
sliame  !     I  ought  not  to  mistrust  God  !    but  indeed,  to  hope  is 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  67 

far  more  difficult  than  to  fear.  Bulls  have  horns,  Lions  have 
talons. 

The  Fox,  and  Statesman  subtle  wiles  insure, 
The  Cit,  and  Polecat  stink  and  are  secure  : 
Toads  with  their  venom,  Doctors  with  their  drug, 
The  Priest,  and  Hedgehog,  in  their  robes  are  snug ! 
Oh,  Nature  !  cruel  step-mother,  and  hard, 
To  thy  poor,  naked,  fenceless  child  the  Bard  ! 
No  Horns  but  those  by  luckless  Hymen  worn, 
f  And  those,  (alas  !  alas  !)  not  Plenty's  Horn  ! 

With  naked  feelings,  and  with  aching  pride, 
He  bears  th' unbroken  blast  on  every  side  ! 
Vampire  booksellers  drain  him  to  the  heart, 
And  Scorpion  critics  cureless  venom  dart  !* 

S.  T.  C." 

"Manchester,  Jan.  7,  1796. 
My  dear  Friend, 

I  arrived  at  Manchester,  last  night,  from  Sheffield,  to  which 
place  I  shall  only  send  about  thirty  numbers.  I  might  have  suc- 
ceeded there,  at  least  equally  well  with  the  former  towns,  but  I 
should  injure  the  sale  of  the  'Iris,'  the  editor  of  which  paper  (a 
very  amiable  and  ingenious  young  man,  of  the  name  of  '  James 
Montgomery,'  is  now  in  prison,  for  a  libel  on  a  bloody-minded 
magistrate  there.  Of  course,  I  declined  publicly  advertising  or 
disposing  of  the  '  Watchman'  in  that  town. 

This  morning  I  called  on  Mr. with  H.'s  letter.     Mr. 

received  me  as  a  rider,  and  treated  nie  with  insolence  that  was 
really  amusing  from  its  novelty.  '  Overstocked  with  these  arti- 
cles.' 'People  always  setting  up  some  new  thing  or  other.'  '  I 
read  the  Star  and  another  paper  ;  what  can  I  want  with  this  paper, 
which  is  nothing  more  ?'  '  Well,  Avell,  I'll  consider  of  it.'  To 
these  entertaining  bon  mots,  I  returned  the  following  repartee, — 
'  Good  morning,  sir.'     ^     -^     -^ 

God  bless  you,  S.  T.  C." 

*  It  is  evident  Mr.  C.  must  have  had  cause  of  complaint  against  one  or^ 
more  of  the  booksellers  before  named.     It  could  not  apply  to  myself,  as  I  in-" 
variably  adhered  to  a  promise  I  had  at  the  commencement  given  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge, not  to  receive  any  allowance  for  what  copies  of  the  '  Watchman'  1 
might  be  so  happy  as  to  sell  for  him. 


68  REMINISCENCES   OF 


"  Mosely,  near  Birminghain,  1796. 
My  very  dear  Wade, 

Will  it  be  any  excuse  to  you  for  my  silence,  to  say  that  I  have 
written  to  no  one  else,  and  that  these  are  the  very  first  lines  I 
have  written  ? 

I  stayed  a  day  or  two  at  Derby,  and  then  went  on  in  Mrs. 's 

carriage  to  see  the  beauties  of  Matlock.  Here  I  stayed  from 
Tuesday  to  Saturday,  which  time  was  completely  filled  up  with 
seeing  the  country,  eating,  concerts,  &c.  I  was  the  first  fiddle,  not 
in  the  concerts,  but  everywhere  else,  and  the  company  would  not 
spare  me  twenty  minutes  together.  Sunday  I  dedicated  to  the 
drawing  up  my  sketch  of  education,  which  I  meant  to  publish,  to 
try  to  get  a  school. 

Monday  I  accompanied  Mrs.  E.  to  Oakover,  with  Miss  W. , 

to  the  thrice  lovely  valley  of  Ham ;  a  vale  hung  by  beautiful 
woods  all  round,  except  just  at  its  entrance,  w^here,  as  you  stand 
at  the  other  end  of  the  valley,  you  see  a  bare,  bleak  mountain, 
standing  as  it  were  to  guard  the  entrance.  It  is  without  excep- 
tion, the  most  beautiful  place  I  ever  visited,  and  from  thence  we 
proceeded  to  Dove-Dale,  without  question  tremendously  sublime. 
Here  we  dined  in  a  cavern,  by  the  side  of  a  divine  little  spring. 
We  returned  to  Derby,  quite  exhausted  wdth  the  rapid  succession 
of  delightful  emotions. 

I  was  to  have  left  Derby  on  Wednesday ;  but  on  the  AVednes- 
day,  Dr.  Crompton,  who  had  been  at  Liverpool,  came  home.  He 
called  on  me,  and  made  the  following  offer.  That  if  I  w^ould  take 
a  house  in  Derby,  and  open  a  day-school,  confining  my  number  to 
twelve,  he  would  send  his  three  children.  That,  till  I  had  com- 
pleted my  number,  he  would  allow^  me  one  hundred  a  year ;  and 
when  I  had  completed  it,  tw^enty  guineas  a  year  for  each  son.  He 
thinks  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  I  might  have  more  than  twelve 
in  a  very  short  time,  if  I  liked  it.  If  so,  twelve  times  twenty 
guineas  is  two  hundred  and  forty  guineas  per  annum ;  and  my 
mornings  and  evenings  would  be  my  own :  the  children  coming  to 
me  from  nine  to  tvrelve,  and  from  two  to  ^ve :  the  two  last  hours 
employed  with  the  wnting  and  drawing  masters,  in  my  presence : 
so  that  only  four  hours  would  be  thoroughly  occupied  by  them. 
The  plan  to  commence  in  IN'ovember.     I  agreed  with  the  Doctor, 


1 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  69 

lie  telling  me,  that  if,  in  the  meantime,  anything  more  advantageous 
offered  itself,  1  was  to  consider  myself  perfectly  at  liberty  to  ac- 
cept it. 

On  Thursday  I  left  Derby  for  Burton.  From  Burton  I  took 
chaise,  slept  at  Litchfield,  and  in  the  morning  arrived  at  my 
worthy  friend's,  Mr.  Thomas  Hawkes,  at  Mosely,  three  miles  from 
Birmingham,  in  whose  shrubbery  I  am  now  writing.  I  shall  stay 
at  Birmingham  a  week  longer. 

I  have  seen  a  letter  from  Mr.  William  Roscoe,  (Author  of  the 
life  of  Lorenzo  the  magnificent ;  a  work  in  two  quarto  volumes,  of 
which  the  whole  first  edition  sold  in  a  month  ;)  it  was  addressed  to 
Mr.  Edwards,  the  minister  here,  and  entirely  related  to  me.  Of 
me,  and  my  composition,  he  vrrites  in  terms  of  high  admiration, 
and  concludes  by  desiring  Mr.  Edwards  to  let  him  know  my  situa- 
tion and  prospects,  and  saying,  if  I  would  come  and  settle  at  Liv- 
erpool, he  thought  a  comfortable  situation  might  be  procured  for 
me.     This  day  Edwards  will  y»Tite  to  him. 

God  love  you,  and  your  grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

N.  B.     I  preached  yesterday." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  preceding  letters,  states  his  having  preached 
occasionally.  There  must  have  been  a  first  sermon.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  I  heard  Mr.  C.  preach  his  first  and  also  his  second  ser- 
mon, with  some  account  of  which  I  shall  now  furnish  the  reader ; 
and  that  without  concealment  or  embellishment.  But  it  will  be 
necessary,  as  an  illustration  of  the  whole,  to  convey  some  previous 
information,  which,  as  it  regards  most  men,  would  be  too  unim- 
portant to  relate. 

When  Mr.  Coleridge  first  came  to  Bristol,  he  had  evidently 
adopted,  at  least  to  some  considerable  extent,  the  sentiments  of 
Socinus.  By  persons  of  that  persuasion,  therefore,  he  was  hailed 
as  a  powerful  accession  to  their  cause.  From  Mr.  C.'s  voluble 
utterance,  it  was  even  believed  that  he  might  become  a  valuable 
Unitarian  minister,  (of  which  class  of  divines,  a  great  scarcity 
then  existed,  with  a  still  more  gloomy  anticipation,  from  most  of 
the  young  academicians  at  their  chief  academy  having  recently 
turned  infidels.)     But  though  this  presumption  in  Mr.  Coleridge's 


70  REMINISCENCES    OF 

favor  was  confidently  entertained,  no  certainty  could  exist  without 
a  trial,  and  how  was  this  difficulty  to  be  overcome  ?  The  Unita- 
rians in  Bristol  might  have  wished  to  see  Mr.  C.  in  their  pulpit, 
expounding  and  enforcing  their  faith ;  but,  as  they  said,  "  the 
thing,  in  Bristol,  was  altogether  impracticable,"  from  the  conspic- 
uous stand  which  he  had  taken  in  free  politics,  through  the  me- 
dium of  his  numerous  lectures.^  « 

It  was  then  recollected  by  some  of  his  anxious  and  importunate 
friends,  that  Bath  was  near,  and  that  a  good  judge  of  requisite 
qualifications  was  to  be  found  therein  in  the  person  of  the  Rev. 
David  Jardine,  with  whom  some  of  Mr.  C.'s  friends  were  on  terms 
of  intimacy  ;  so  that  it  was  determined  that  Mr.  Coleridge,  as  the 
commencement  of  his  brilliant  career,  should  be  respectfully  re- 
quested to  preach  his  inaugural  discourse  in  the  Unitarian  chapel 
at  Bath. 

The  invitation  having  been  given  and  accepted,  I  felt  some  cu- 
riosity to  witness  the  firmness  with  which  he  would  face  a  large 
and  enlightened  audience,  and,  in  the  intellectual  sense,  grace  his 
canonical  robes.  'No  conveyance  having  been  provided,  and  wish- 
ing the  young  ecclesiastic  to  proceed  to  the  place  of  his  exhibition 
with  some  decent  respectability,  I  agreed  with  a  common  friend, 
the  late  Mr.  Charles  Danvers,  to  take  Mr.  C.  over  to  Bath  in  a 
chaise. 

The  morning  of  the  important  day  unfolded,  and  in  due  time 

*  In  all  Mr.  Coleridge's  lectures,  he  was  a  steady  opposer  of  Mr.  Pitt,  and 
the  then  existing  war ;  and  also  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Fox,  Sheridan, 
Grey,  &c.,  &c.,  but  his  opposition  to  the  reigning  politics  discovered  little  as- 
perity ;  it  chiefly  appeared  by  wit  and  sarcasm,  and  commonly  ended  in  that 
which  was  the  speaker's  chief  object,  a  laugh. 

Few  attended  Mr.  C.'s  lectures  but  those  whose  political  views  were  similar 
to  his  own  ;  but  on  one  occasion,  some  gentlemen  of  the  opposite  party  came 
into  the  lecture-room,  and  at  one  sentiment  they  heard,  testified  their  disap- 
probation by  the  only  easy  and  safe  way  in  their  power ;  namely,  by  a  hiss. 
The  auditors  were  startled  at  so  unusual  a  sound,  not  knowing  to  what  it 
might  conduct ;  but  their  noble  leader  soon  quieted  their  fears,  by  instantly 
remarking  with  great  coolness,  "  I  arp  not  at  all  surprised,  when  the  red-hot 
prejudices  of  aristocrats  are  suddenly  plunged  into  the  cool  water  of  reason, 
that  they  should  go  off  with  a  hiss  !"  The  words  were  electric.  The  assail- 
ants felt,  as  well  as  testified,  their  confusion,  and  the  whole  company  con- 
firmed it  by  immense  applause  !     There  was  no  more  hissing. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  71 

we  arrived  at  the  place  of  our  destination.  When  on  the  way  to 
the  chapel,  a  man  stopped  Charles  Dan  vers,  and  asked  him  if  he 
could  tell  where  the  Rev.  Mr.  Coleridge  preached.  ''  Follow  the 
crowd,"  said  Danvers,  and  walked  on.  Mr.  C.  wore  his  blue  coat 
and  white  waistcoat ;  but  what  was  Mr.  Jardine's  surprise,  when 
he  found  that  his  young  probationer  peremptorily  refused  to  wear 
the  hide-all  sable  gown  !  Expostulation  w^s  unavailing,  and  the 
minister  ascended  to  the  pulpit  in  his  cdlored  clothes  ! 

Considering  that  it  had  been  announced  on  the  preceding  Sun- 
day, that  "  the  Rev.  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  from  Cambridge 
University,"  would  preach  there  on  this  day,  we  naturally  calcu- 
lated on  an  overflowing  audience,  but  it  proved  to  be  the  most 
meagre  congregation  I  had  ever  seen.  The  reader  will  but  im- 
perfectly appreciate  Mr.  C.'s  discourse,  without  the  previous  in- 
formation that  this  year  (1796)  was  a  year  of  great  scarcity,  and 
consequent  privation,  amongst  the  poor  ;  on  which  subject  the 
sermon  was  designed  impressively  to  bear.  And  now  the  long 
expected  service  commenced. 

The  prayer,  without  being  intended,  was  formal,  unimpressive, 
and  undevotional ;  the  singing  was  languid  ;  but  we  expected  that 
the  sermon  would  arouse  the  inattentive,  and  invigorate  the  dull. 
The  moment  for  announcing  the  text  arrived.  Our  curiosity  was 
excited.  With  little  less  than  famine  in  the  land,  our  hearts  were 
appalled  at  hearing' the  words,  ''  When  they  shall  be  hungry,  they 
shall  fret  themselves,  and  curse  their  king,  and  their  God,  and 
look  upward."  (Isaiah  viii.  21.)  Mr.  Winterbotham,  a  little  be- 
fore, had  been  thrown  into  prison  for  the  freedom  of  his  political 
remarks  in  a  sermon  at  Plymouth,  and  we  were  half  fearful  whether 
in  his  impetuous  current  of  feeling,  some  sirr  s  expressions  might 
not  subject  our  friend  to  a  like  visitation.  Our  fears  were  groimd- 
less.  Strange  as  it  may  appear  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  vigorous  mind, 
the  whole  discourse  consisted  of  little  more  than  a  Lecture  on  the 
Corn  Laws  !  which  some  time  before  he  had  delivered  in  Bristol, 
at  the  Assembly  Room. 

Returning  from  our  edifying  discourse  to  a  tavern  dinner,  we 
were  privileged  with  more  luminous  remarks  on  this  inexhaustible 
subject :  but  something  better  (or  worse,  as  the  reader's  taste  may 
be)  is  still  in  reserve.     After  dinner,  Mr.  Coleridge  remarked  that 


72  REMINISCENCES   OF 


he  should  have  no  objection  to  preach  another  sermon  that  after- 
noon. In  the  hope  that  sometiiing  redeeming  might  still  appear, 
and  the  best  be  retained  for  the  last,  we  encouraged  his  proposal, 
when  he  rang  the  bell,  and  on  the  waiter  appearing,  he  was  sent, 
with  Mr.  Coleridge's  compliments,  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jardme,  to  say, 
"If  agreeable,  Mr.  C.  would  give  his  congregation  another  ser- 
mon, this  afternoon,  on  the  Hair  Powder  Tax  !"*  On  the  depar- 
ture of  the  waiter,  I  was  fully  assured  that  Mr.  Jardine  would 
smile,  and  send  a  civil  excuse,  satisfied  that  he  had  had  quite 
enough  of  political  economy,  with  blue  coat  and  white  waistcoat, 
in  the  morning  ;  but  to  my  great  surprise,  the  waiter  returned  with 
Mr.  Jardine's  compliments,  saying,  "  he  should  be  happy  to  hear 
Mr.  Coleridge  !" 

Now  all  was  hurry  lest  the  concourse  should  be  kept  waiting. 
What  surprise  will  the  reader  feel,  on  understanding  that,  inde- 
pendently of  ourselves  and  Mr.  Jardine,  there  were  but  seventeen 
persons  present,  including  men,  women,  and  children !  We  had, 
as  we  expected,  a  recapitulation  of  the  old  lecture,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  its  humorous  appendages,  in  reprobation  of  the  Hair 
Powder  Tax  ;  and  the  twice-told  tale,  even  to  the  ear  of  friendship, 
in  truth  sounded  rather  dull  ! 

Two  or  three  times  Mr.  C.  looked  significantly  toward  our  seat, 
when  fearful  of  being  thrown  off  my  guard  into  a  smile,  I  held 
down  my  head,  from  which  position  I  was  aroused,  when  the  ser- 
mon was  about  half  over,  by  some  gentleman  throwing  back  the 
door  of  his  pew,  and  walking  out  of  the  chapel.  In  a  few  minutes 
after,  a  second  individual  did  the  same ;  and  soon  after  a  third 
door  flew  open,  and  the  listener  escaped  !  At  this  moment  affairs 
looked  so  very  ominous,  that  we  were  almost  afraid  Mr.  Jardine 
himself  would  fly,  and  that  none  but  ourselves  would  fairly  sit  it  out. 

A  little  before,  I  had  been  in  company  with  the  late  Robert 
Hall,  and  S.  T.  Coleridge,  when  the  collision  of  equal  minds 
elicited  licrht  and  heat ;  both  of  them  rankinor  in  the  first  class  of 
conversationalists,  but  great  indeed  was  the  contrast  between 
them  in  the  pulpit.  The  parlor  was  the  element  for  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge, and  the  politician's  lecture,  rather  than  the  minister's  ha- 
rangue. We  all  returned  to  Bristol  with  the  feeling  of  disap- 
♦  A  law  just  then  passed. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY. 


pointment ; — Mr.  0.  from  the  little  personal  attention  paid  to  him 
from  Mr.  Jardine  ;  and  we,  from  a  dissatisfying  sense  of  a  Sunday 
desecrated.  Although  no  doubt  can  be  entertained  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge having,  in  the  journey  before  noticed,  surpassed  his  first 
essay,  yet,  with  every  reasonable  allowance,  the  conviction  was  so 
strong  on  my  mind  that  Mr.  C.  had  mistaken  his  talent,  that  my 
regard  for  him  was  too  genuine  to  entertain  the  wish  of  ever 
again  seeing  him  in  a  pulpit. 

It  is  unknown  when  the  following  letter  was  received,  (although 
quite  certain  that  it  was  not  the  evening  in  which  Mr.  Coleridge 
wrote  his  "  Ode  to  the  Departing  Year,")  and  it  is  printed  in  this 
place  at  something  of  an  uncertainty.^' 

*' January  1st. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  been  forced  to  disappoint  not  only  you,  but  Dr.  Beddoes, 
on  an  affair  of  some  importance.  Last  night  I  was  induced  by 
strong  and  joint  soUcitation,  to  go  to  a  card-club,  to  which  Mr. 
Morgan  belongs,  and,  after  the  playing  was  over,  to  sup,  and 
spend  the  remainder  of  the  night :  having  made  a  previous  com- 
pact, that  I  should  not  drink  ;  however,  just  on  the  verge  of  twelve, 
I  was  desired  to  drink  only  one  wine-glass  of  punch,  in  honor 
of  the  departing  year ;  and,  after  twelve,  one  other  in  honor  of 
the  new  year.  Though  the  glasses  were  very  small,  yet  such 
was  the  effect  produced  during  my  sleep,  that  I  awoke  unwell, 
and  in  about  twenty  minutes  after  had  a  relapse  of  my  bilious 
complaint.  I  am  just  now  recovered,  and  with  care,  I  doubt  not, 
shall  be  as  well  as  ever  to-morrow.  If  I  do  not  see  you  then,  it 
will  be  from  some  relapse,  which  I  have  no  reason,  thank  heaven, 
to  anticipate. 

Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  Coleridge.'' 

In  consequence  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  journey  to  the  north,  to  col- 
lect subscribers  for  the  "  Watchman,"  an  incident  occurred,  which 
produced  a  considerable  effect  on  his  after  life.  During  Mr.  C.'s 
visit  to  Birmingham,  an  accident  had  introduced  him  to  the  eldest 

*  Tt  is  this  general  absence  of  the  dates  to  Mr.  C.'s  letters,  which  may  have 
occasioned  me,  in  one  or  two  instances,  to  err  in  the  arrangements. 

4 


74  REMINISCENCES   OF 

son  of  Mr.  Lloyd,  the  eminent  banker  of  that  town.  Mr.  Lloyd 
had  intended  his  son  Charles  to  unite  with  him  in  the  bank,  but 
the  monotonous  business  of  tlie  establishment,  ill  accorded  with 
the  young  man's  taste,  which  had  taken  a  decidedly  literary  turn. 
If  the  object  of  Charles  Lloyd  had  been  to  accumulate  wealth, 
his  disposition  might  have  been  gratified  to  the  utmost  ;  but  tiie 
tedious  and  unintellectual  occupation  of  adjusting  pounds,  shil- 
lings, and  pence,  suited,  he  thought,  those  alone  who  had  never, 
eagle-like,  gazed  at  the  sun,  or  bathed  their  temples  in  the  dews 
of  Parnassus.  The  feelings  of  this  young  man  were  ardent ;  his 
reading  and  information  extensive  ;  and  his  genius,  though  of  a 
peculiar  cast,  considerable.  His  mind  appeared,  however,  subject 
to  something  of  that  morbid  sensibility  vrliich  distinguished  Cow- 
per.  The  admiration  excited  in  Mr.  L.  by  Mr.  Coleridge's  pre- 
eminent talents,  induced  him  to  relinquisli  his  connection  with  the 
bank ;  and  he  had  now  arrived  in  Bristol  to  seek  Mr.  C.  out,  and 
to  improve  his  acquaintance  with  him. 

To  enjoy  the  enviable  privilege  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  conversation, 
Mr.  Lloydf  proposed  even  to  domesticate  with  liim  ;  and  made  him 
such  a  pecuniary  offer,  that  Mr.  C.  immediately  acceded  to  the 
proposal ;  and  to  effect  this,  as  an  essential  preliminary,  removed 
from  Redcliff-hill  to  a  house  on  Kingsdown. 

In  this  his  new  abode,  Mr.  Coleridge  appeared  settled  and 
comfortable.  Friends  were  kind  and  numerous.  Books,  of  all 
kinds,  were  at  his  command.  Of  the  literary  society  now  found 
in  Bristol,  he  expressed  himself  in  terms  of  warm  approval,  and 
thought,  in  this  feature,  that  it  vras  surpassed  by  no  city  in  the 
kingdom.  His  son  Hartley,  also,  was  now  born;  and  no  small 
accession  to  his  comfort  arose  from  his  vouno-  and  intellio-ent  do- 

o  o 

mestic  associate,  Charles  Lloyd.  This  looked  something  like  per- 
manence ;  but  the  promise  was  fallacious,  for  Mr.  Coleridge  now 
experienced  another  removal. 

His  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Poole,  of  Xether  Stowev,  near  Bridsfe- 
water,  was  desirous  of  obtaining  Mr.  C.  again,  as  a  permanent 
neighbor,  and  recommended  him  to  take  a  small  house  at  Stowey, 
then  to  b*e  let,  at  seven  pounds  a  year,  which  he  thought  would 
well  suit  him.  Mr.  Poole's  personal  worth  ;  his  friendly  and  social 
manners  ;  his  information,  and  taste  for  literature  ;  all  this,  com- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  75 

bined  with  the  prospect  of  a  diminished  expense  in  his  estabhsh- 
ment  unitedly,  formed  such  powerful  inducements,  that  Mr.  C.  at 
once  decided,  and  the  more  so,  as  Mr.  Lloyd  had  consented  to  ac- 
company him.  To  this  place,  consequently,  the  whole  party  re- 
paired. 

On  Mr.  Coleridge  reaching  his  new  abode,  I  was  gratified  by 
receiving  from  him  the  following  letter. 

'^Stowey,  1796. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

We  arrived  safe.  Our  house  is  set  to  rights.  "We  are  all — 
wife,  bratling,  and  self,  remarkably  well.  Mrs.  Coleridge  likes 
Stowey,  and  loves  Thomas  Poole  and  his  mother,  who  love  her. 
A  communication  has  been  made  from  our  orchard  into  T.  Poole's 
garden,  and  from  thence  to  Cruikshank's,  a  friend  of  mine,  and  a 
young  married  man,  whose  wife  is  very  amiable,  and  she  and  Sara 
are  already  on  the  most  cordial  terms  ;  from  all  this  you  will 
conclude  we  are  happy.  By-the-bye,  what  a  delightful  poem  is 
Southey's  '  Musings  on  a  Landscape  of  Gaspar  Poussin.'  I  love 
it  almost  better  than  his  '  Hymn  to  the  Penates.'  In  his  volume 
of  poems.     The  following,  namely, 

'  The  Six  Sonnets  on  the  Slave  Trade. — The  Ode  to  the  Genius  of  Africa. 
— To  my  own  Miniature  Picture. — The  Eight  Inscriptions.— EHnor,  Botany- 
bay  Eclogue.— Frederick,  ditto.— The  Ten  Sonnets,  (pp.  107—116.)  On 
the  death  of  an  Old  Spaniel.— The  Soldier's  Wife,  Dactylics.— The  Widow, 
Sapphics. — The  Chapel  Bell. — The  Race  of  Banco.     Rudiger.' 

All  these  Poems  are  v/ orthy  the  Author  of  '  Joan  of  Arc'    And 

*  The  Musings  on  a  Landscape,'  ^c.  and 
'  The  Hymn  to  the  Penates,' 

deserve  to  have  been  published  after  '  Joan  of  Arc,'  as  proofs  of 
progressive  genius. 

God  bless  you, 

S.  T.  C." 

The  accoimt  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  residence  at  Stowey,  lies  in  the 
department  of  another ;  although  he  occasionally  visited  Bristol, 
with  Mrs.  C,  as  engagements  or  inclination  prompted ;  some  no- 
tice of  which  visits  will  here  be  taken. 


76  REMINISCENCES    OF 


Mr.  Charles  Lloyd  was  subject  to  fits,  to  one  of  which  the 
second  following-  letter  refers.  In  the  above  letter  Mr.  C.  pro- 
nounces himself  happy,  but  as  no  condition,  in  this  changeable 
world,  is  either  perfect  happiness  or  misery,  so  the  succeeding 
letter  presents  Mr.  C.  overpowered  almost,  with  a  feeling  of 
despondency  !  The  calculation  of  the  course  which  genius,  com- 
bined with  eccentricity,  would  be  likely  to  pursue,  must  be  at- 
tended with  uncertainty,  but  the  probability  is,  that  had  Mr.  C.'s 
mind  been  easy  at  this  time,  surrounded  by  domestic  quiet  and 
comparative  seclusion,  he  might  have  been  equal  to  any  intel- 
lectual achievement ;  but  soon  after  he  settled  at  Stowey,  he 
was  reduced  to  the  most  prostrate  state  of  depression,  arising 
purely  from  the  darkness  of  his  pecuniary  horizon.  Happily  for 
the  reader,  a  brief  mental  respite  succeeded,  in  which,  if  trouble 
existed,  the  letter  which  expressed  that  trouble,  soon  exhibits  him 
(half  forgetful)  expatiating  in  those  comprehensive  surveys  of  pos- 
sible excellence  which  formed  the  habit  of  his  mind. 

"Stowey,  1796. 
My  dearest  Cottle, 

I  love  and  respect  you  as  a  brother,  and  my  memory  deceives 
me  wofully.  if  I  have  not  evidenced,  by  the  animated  tone  of  my 
conversation  when  we  have  been  tete  a  tete,  how  much  your  con- 
versation interested  me.  But  when  last  in  Bristol,  the  day  I 
meant  to  devote  to  you,  was  such  a  day  of  sadness,  I  could  do 
nothing.  On  the  Saturday,  the  Sunday,  and  ten  days  after  my 
arrival  at  Stowey,  I  felt  a  depi'ession  too  dreadful  to  be  described. 

So  much  I  felt  my  genial  spirits  droop, 

My  hopes  all  flat ;  Nature  within  me  seemed 

In  all  her  functions,  v/eary  of  herself. 

Wordsworth's^  conversation  aroused  me   somew^hat,  but  even 

now  I  am  not  the  man  I  have  been,  and  I  think  I  never  shall.    A 

sort  of  calm  hopelessness  diffuses  itself  over  my  heart.     Indeed 

every  mode  of  life  which  has  promised  me  bread  and  cheese,  has 

been,  one  after  another,  torn  away  from  me,  but  God  remains.     I 

have  no  immediate  pecuniary  distress,  having  received  ten  pounds 

*  Mr.  Wordsworth,  at  this  time,  resided  at  Allfoxden  House,  two  or  three 
miles  from  Stowey. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  77 

from  Lloyd.     I  employ  myself  now  on  a  book  of  morals  in  answer 
to  Godwin,  and  on  my  tragedy. 

^  :f:  -^  %V  ^  %  %  -/r 

There  are  some  poets  who  write  too  much  at  their  ease,  from 
the  facility  with  which  they  please  themselves.  They  do  not 
often  enough 

'  Feel  their  burdened  breast 
Heaving  beneath  incumbent  Deity.' 

So  that  to  posterity  their  wreaths  v/ill  look  imseemly.  Here, 
perhaps,  an  everlasting  Amaranth,  and  close  by  its  side,  some 
weed  of  an  hour,  sere,  yellow,  and  shapeless.  Their  very  beau- 
ties will  lose  half  their  effect,  from  the  bad  company  they  keep. 
They  rely  too  much  on  story  and  event,  to  the  neglect  of  those 
lofty  imaginings  that  are  peculiar  to,  and  definite  of  the  Poet. 

The  story  of  Milton  might  be  told  in  two  pages.  It  is  this 
which  distinguishes  an  epic  poem  from  a  romance  in  metre.  Ob- 
serve the  march  of  Milton ;  his  severe  application ;  his  laborious 
polish ;  his  deep  metaphysical  researches  ;  his  prayer  to  God  be- 
fore he  began  his  great  work ;  all  that  could  lift  and  swell  his 
intellect,  became  his  daily  food. 

I  should  not  think  of  devoting  less  than  twenty  years  to  an 
epic  poem,  ten  years  to  collect  materials  and  Avarm  my  mind  with 
universal  science.  I  would  be  a  tolerable  Mathematician.  I 
would  thoroughly  understand  Mechanics ;  Hydrostatics ;  Optics, 
and  Astronomy  ;  Botany  ;  Metallurgy  ;  Fossilism  ;  Chemistry  ; 
Geology  ;  Anatomy ;  Medicine ;  then  the  mind  of  man  ;  then  the 
minds  of  men,  in  all  Travels,  Voyages,  and  Histories.  So  I  would 
spend  ten  years ;  the  next  five  in  the  composition  of  the  poem, 
and  the  five  last  in  the  correction  of  it.  So  would  I  write,  haply 
not  unhearing  of  that  divine  and  nightly-whispering  voice,  which 
speaks  to  mighty  minds,  of  predestinated  garlands,  starry  and 
unwithering.^ 

God  love  you.  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

P.  S.  David  Hartley  is  Avell  and  grows.  Sara  is  well,  and  de- 
sires a  sister's  love  to  you." 

*  How  much  is  it  to  be  deplored,  that  one  whose  views  were  so  enlarged  as 
those  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  and  his  conceptions  so  Miltonic,  should  have  been  sat- 


78  REMINISCENCES   OF 


In  tlie  spirit  of  impartiality,  it  now  devolves  on  me  to  state  a 
temporary  misunderstanding  between  even  the  two  Pantisocra- 
tans,  Mr.  Coleiidge  and  Mr.  Southey  !  The  affair  occurred  in  the 
autumn  of  1795,  but  it  could  not  be  noticed  at  that  time,  without 
interrupting  the  narrative. 

It  is  difficult  to  assign  any  other  reason  for  the  wild  scheme  of 
Pantisocracy,  than  the  inexperience  of  youth,  acting  on  sanguine 
ima<^»-inations.  At  its  first  announcement,  every  reflecting  mind 
saw  that  the  plan,  in  its  nature,  and  in  the  agents  who  vrere  to 
carry  it  into  effect,  was  liable  to  insurmountable  objections ;  but 
the  individuals  with  whom  the  design  originated,  were  young,  ar- 
dent, and  enthusiastic,  and  at  that  time  entertained  views  of  soci- 
ety erroneous  in  themselves,  and  which  experience  alone  could 
correct.  The  fullest  conviction  v^as  entertained  by  their  fiiends, 
that  as  reason  established  itself  in  their  minds,  the  delusion  would 
vanish,  and  they  themselves  soon  smile  at  extravagances  which 
none  but  their  own  ingenious  order  of  minds  could  have  devised ; 
but  when  the  dissension  occurred,  before  noticed,  at  Chepstow, 
Mr.  Southey  must  have  had  conviction  flashed  on  his  mind,  that 
the  habits  of  himself  and  his  friend  w^ere  so  essentially  opposed, 
as  to  render  harmony  and  success  impossible. 

Mr.  Southey  now  informed  Mr.  Coleridge,  that  circumstances, 
and  his  own  views  had  so  altered,  as  to  render  it  necessary  for 
him  candidly  to  state  that  he  must  abandon  Pantisocracy,  arid  the 
whole  scheme  of  colonizing  in  America  ;  and  that  he  should  ac- 
cept an  invitation  from  his  uncle,  to  accompany  him  through 
Spain  to  Lisbon.  The  reader  has  had  cause  to  believe  that  Mr. 
C.  himself  had  relinquished  this  wild  plan,  but  it  was  by  implica- 
tion, rather  than  by  direct  avowal.  Perhaps,  in  the  frustration  of 
so  many  of  his  present  designs,  a  latent  thought  might  linger  in 
his  mind,  that  America,  after  all,  was  to  be  the  fostering  asylum, 
where  alone,  unmingled  felicity  was  to  be  found.  The  belief  is 
hardly  admissible,  and  yet  the  admission,  extravagant  as  it  is,  de- 
rives some  support  from  the  unexpected  effect  produced  on  him 
by  the  disclosure  of  his  friend. 

isfied  with  theorizing  merely ;  and  that  he  did  not,  like  his  great  prototype, 
concentrate  all  his  energies,  so  as  to  produce  some  one  august  poetical  work, 
which  should  become  the  glory  of  his  country. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHED.  79 


On  this  announcement,  or  soon  after,  a  tumult  of  fearful  in- 
tensity arose  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  mind,  which  filled  the  whole 
circle  of  their  friends  vrith  grief  and  dismay.  This  unexpected 
effect,  perhaps,  may  be  ascribed  to  the  consciousness,  now  first 
•  seiiously  avvakened,  of  the  erroneous  principles  on  v/hich  all  his 
calculations  had  been  founded.  He  perceived  at  length  (it  may 
be)  that  he  had  been  pursuing  a  phantom ;  and  the  conviction 
must  have  been  associated  with  self-upbraidings.  It  is  commonly 
found,  that  the  man  who  is  dissatisfied  with  himself,  is  seldom 
satisfied  long  v/ith  those  around  him ;  and  these  compound  and 
accumulated  feelings  must  necessarily  be  directed  against  some 
object.  At  this  brain-crazing  moment,  the  safety-valve  of  feeling 
was  Mr.  Southey. 

Being  familiar  with  the  v/hole  affair,  I  completely  justified  Mr. 
S.  as  having  acted  with  the  strictest  honor  and  propriety,  and  in 
such  a  way  as  any  wise  man,  under  such  circumstances,  vv^ould 
have  acted.  The  great  surprise  witii  their  friends  was,  that  the 
crisis  should  not  have  occurred  earlier,  as  a  result  certain  to  take 
place,  and  delayed  alone  by  the  vivid  succession  of  objects  that 
gave,  it  must  be  said,  a  temporary  suspension  to  the  full  exercise 
of  their  understandings.  Justice  to  Mr.  S.  requires  it  to  bo 
stated,  that  he  acted  purely  on  the  defensive ;  adopting  no 
epithets,  and  repelling  offensive  accusations  and  expressions,  with 
sober  argument  and  remonstrance  alone.  I  spoke  to  each  in  suc- 
cession, and  labored  to  procure  a  reconciliation;  but  oil  and  v/ater 
would  sooner  have  united  than  the  accuser  and  the  accused. 

This  difference  occurred  only  two  or  three  days  before  Mr.  S. 
set  off  on  his  Spanish  and  Portuguese  expedition.  During  his 
absence,  the  fire  lay  smouldering,  and  on  his  return  to  England, 
in  May,  1796,  the  conflagration  was  renewed.  Charges  of  "de- 
sertion," flew  thick  around ;  of  **  dishonorable  retraction,  in  a 
compact  the  most  binding."  I  again  spoke  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  and 
endeavored  to  soften  his  asperity.  I  also  wrote  to  Mr.  Southey, 
and  expressed  a  hope,  that  if  he  found  it  impossible  at  the  present 
moment  to  return  to  cordiality,  he  would  at  least  consent  when  he 
met  Mr.  Coleridge,  to  restrain  the  indignant  look,  which  was 
painfully  manifest  on  both  countenances. 

The  most  pleasant  part  of  the  narrative  will  now  be  unfolded. 


80  REMINISCENCES   OF 


Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey  met  at  the  house  of  a  relation, 
when,  without  explanation,  the  relentings  of  nature  threw  them 
silently  into  each  other's  arms  !  I  knew  nothing  of  this  happy 
reconciliation,  the  tirst  intimation  of  Avhich  was  their  calling  on 
me,  arm  in  arm,  after  having  taken  a  pleasant  walk  together  into 
the  country.  Each  seemed  to  relish  the  surprise  and  the  delight 
which  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  conceal ;  and  I  had  reason 
afterwards  to  think,  that  this  sprightly  scene  was  a  preconcerted 
arrangement  to  heighten  the  stage-et!ect.  I  shall  now  withdraw 
the  reader's  attention  from  Mr.  Southey,  and  proceed  with  the 
narrative  of  Mr.  Coleridge. 

When  Mr.  Southey  departed  for  the  continent,  Mr.  Coleridge 
repaired  to  his  own  calm  retreat  at  Stowey,  from  which  place  he 
sent  me  the  following  letter. 

"Stowey,  1796. 
Dear  Cottle, 

I  write  under  great  agony  of  mind,  Charles  Lloyd  being  very 
ill.  He  has  been  seized  with  his  fits  three  times  in  the  space  of 
seven  days :  and  just  as  1  was  in  bed  last  night,  I  was  called  up 
again ;  and  from  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  to  five  this  morning,  he 
remained  in  one  continued  state  of  agonized  delirium.  What 
with  bodily  toil,  exerted  in  repressing  his  frantic  struggles,  and 
what  with  the  feelings  of  agony  for  his  sufferings,  you  may  sup- 
pose that  I  have  forced  myself  from  bed,  with  aching  temples, 
and  a  feeble  frame.     '•''     ^     '^' 

We  offer  petitions,  not  as  supposing  w^e  influence  the  Immu- 
table ;  but  because  to  petition  the  Supreme  Being,  is  tlie  way 
most  suited  to  our  nature,  to  stir  up  the  benevolent  affections  in 
our  hearts.  Christ  positively  commands  it,  and  in  St.  Paul  you 
Avill  find  unnumbered  instances  of  prayer  for  indi\  idual  blessings ; 
for  kings,  rulers,  (fee,  (fee.  We  indeed  should  all  join  to  our  peti- 
tions :  '  But  tliy  will  be  done,  Omniscient,  All-loving,  Immortal 
God!' 

Believe  me  to  have  towards  you,  the  inward  and  spiritual  grat- 
itude and  affection,  though  I  am  not  always  an  adept  in  the 
outward  and  visible  signs. 

God  bless  you,  S.  T.  C." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  81 


A  letter  written  by  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Miss  Cruikshanks,  living 
near  Stowey  during  Mr.  C.'s  residence  at  that  place,  exhibits  the 
law  of  association  in  a  new  light ;  and  shows  the  facility  with 
which  ingenious  men  can  furnish  excuses,  at  all  times,  for  doing 
that  which  they  desire. 

"  Dear  Mary, 

I  wandered  on  so  thought-beAvildered,  that  it  is  no  wonder  1 
became  way-bewildered ;  hoAvever,  seeing  a  road-post,  in  two 
places,  with  the  name,  *  Stowey  ;'  one  by  some  water  and  a  stone- 
bridge,  and  another  on  a  tree,  at  the  top  of  the  ascent,  I  con- 
cluded I  was  only  gone  a  new  way,  when  coming  to  a  place 
where  four  roads  met,  I  turned  to  my  left,  merely  because  I  saw 
some  houses,  and  found  myself  at  Plansfield.  Accordingly,  I 
turned  upward,  and  as  I  knew  I  must  pay  a  farewell  visit  to 
Ashhalt,  I  dined  Avith  the  B — s,  and  arrived  at  Stowey,  just  be- 
fore dark. 

I  did  not  lose  my  way  then,  though  I  confess  that  Mr.  B.  and 
myself,  disobedient  to  the  voice  of  the  ladies,  had  contrived  to 
finish  two  bottles  of  port  between  us,  to  which  I  added  two 
glasses  of  mead.  All  this  was  in  consequence  of  conversing 
about  John  Cruikshanks'  coming  down.  IN'ow  John  Cruikshanks' 
idea  being  regularly  associated  in  Mr.  B.'s  mind,  with  a  second 
bottle,  and  S.  T.  C.  being  associated  with  John  Cruikshanks,  the 
second  bottle  became  associated  with  the  idea,  and  afterwards 
with  the  body  of  S.  T.  C.  by  necessity  of  metaphysical  law,  as 
you  may  see  in  the  annexed  figure,  or  diagram. 

Second  Bottle.       f^       B 


J.  C.      /  \       S.  T.  C. 


God  bless  you,  S.  T.  C." 

Miss  Cruikshanks  has  favored  me  with  a  letter  of  Mr.  Coleridge 
to  herself,   explanatory  of  his  political   principles,  when  he  had 


82  REMINISCENCES   OF 


receded  in  a  good  measure  from  the  sentiments  pervading  his 
"  Conciones  ad  Populum."  This  letter  was  written  at  a  later 
period,  but  is  made  to  follow  the  preceding,  to  preserve  a  con- 
tinuity of  subject. 

Miss  C,  it  appears,  had  lent  the  first  edition  of  Mr.  Coleridge's 
poems  to  Lady  Elizabeth  Perceval,"'^  in  some  parts  of  which 
volume  the  sentiments  of  an  earlier  day  were  rather  too  promi- 
nently displayed.  To  counteract  the  effect  such  parts  were  cal- 
culated to  produce,  Mr.  Coleridge  wrote  the  following  letter,  in  the 
hope  that  by  being  shovv^n  to  her  ladyship,  it  might  efface  from 
her  mind  any  unfavorable  impression  she  might  have  received. 
In  this  letter  he  also  rather  tenderly  refers  to  his  American 
scheme. 

(jSTo  date,  supposed  to  be  1803.) 
"  My  dear  Miss  Cruikshanks, 

With  the  kindest  intentions,  I  fear  you  have  done  me  some 
little  disservice,  in  borrowing  the  first  edition  of  my  poems  from 
Miss  B .  I  never  held  any  principles  indeed,  of  which,  con- 
sidering my  age,  I  have  reason  to  be  ashamed.  The  whole  of 
my  public  life  may  be  comprised  in  eight  or  nine  months  of  my 
22nd  year ;  and  the  whole  of  my  political  sins  during  that  time, 
consisted  in  forming  a  plan  of  taking  a  large  farm  in  common,  in 
America,  Avith  other  young  men  of  my  age.  A  wild  notion  indeed, 
but  very  harmless. 

As  to  my  principles,  they  were,  at  all  times,  decidedly  anti- 
jacobin  and  anti-revolutionary,  and  my  American  scheme  is  a 
proof  of  this.  Indeed  at  that  time,  I  seriously  held  the  doctrine 
of  passive  obedience,  though  a  violent  enemy  of  the  first  war. 
Afterwards,  and  for  the  last  ten  years  of  my  life,  I  have  been 
fighting  incessantly  in  the  good  cause,  against  French  ambition, 
and  French  principles  ;  and  I  had  Mr.  Addington's  suffrage,  as  to 
the  good  produced  by  my  Essays,  written  in  the  Morning  Post, 
in  the  interval  of  the  peace  of  Amiens,  and  the  second  war,  to- 
gether with  my  two  letters  to  Mr.  Fox.f 

*  Sister  of  the  Premier. 

f  It  appears  from  Sir  .Tames  Macintosh's  Life,  pubhshed  by  his  son,  that  a 
diminution  of  respect  towards  Sir  James  was  entertained  by  Mr.  Fox,  arising 
from  the  above  two  letters  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  which  appeared  in  the  Morning 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  83 

Of  my  former  errors,  I  should  be  no  more  ashamed,  than  of 
my  change  of  body,  natural  to  increase  of  age  ;  but  in  that  first 
edition,  there  was  inserted  (without  my  consent !)  a  Sonnet  to 
Lord  Stanhope,  in  direct  contradiction,  equally,  to  my  then,  as  to 
my  present  principles.  A  Sonnet  written  by  me  in  ridicule  and 
mockery  of  the  bloated  style  of  French  Jacobinical  declamation, 
and  inserted  by  Briggs,  (the  fool  of  a  printer,)  in  order,  forsooth, 
that  he  might  send  the  book,  and  a  letter  to  Earl  Stanhope  ;  who, 
to  prove  that  he  was  not  mad  in  all  things,  treated  both  book 
and  letter  with  silent  contempt."^  I  have  therefore  sent  Mr. 
Poole's  second  edition,  and  if  it  be  in  your  power,  I  could  wish 
you  to  read  the  '  dedication  to  my  brother,'  at  the  beginning,  to 
Lady  E.  Perceval,  to  obtain  whose  esteem,  so  far  at  least  as  not 
to  be  confounded  with  the  herd  of  vulgar  mob  flatterers,  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  confess  myself  solicitous. 

I  would  I  could  be  with  you  and  your  visitors.  Penelope,  you 
know,  is  very  high  in  my  esteem.     With  true  warmth   of  heart, 

Post.  Some  enemy  of  Sir  James  Iipcd  informed  Mr,  Fox  that  these  two  letters 
were  written  by  Macintosh,  and  which  exceedingly  wounded  his  mind.  Be- 
fore the  error  could  be  corrected,  Mr.  Fox  died.  This  occurrence  was  deplored 
by  Sir  James,  in  a  way  that  showed  his  deep  feeling  of  regret,  but  which,  as 
might  be  supposed,  did  not  prevent  him  from  bearing  the  amplest  testimony  to 
the  social  worth  and  surpassing  talents  of  that  great  statesman. 

Mr.  Coleridge's  Bristol  friends  will  remember  that  once  Mr.  Fox  was  idolized 
by  him  as  the  paragon  of  political  excellence ;  and  Mr.  Pitt  depressed  in  the 
same  proportion. 

*  The  following  is  the  Sonnet  to  Lord  Stanhope,  in  the  first  edition,  now 
omitted : 

"  Not  Stanhope  !  with  the  patriot's  doubtful  name 
I  mock  thy  worth,  friend  of  the  human  race  ! 
Since,  scorning  faction's  low  and  partial  aim, 
Aloof  thou  wendest  in  thy  stately  pace. 
Thyself  redeeming  from  that  leprous  stain — 
Nobility  !  and,  aye,  unterrified, 
Pourest  thy  Abdiel  warnings  on  the  train 
That  sit  complotting  with  rebellious  pride 
'Gainst  her,  who  from  th'  Almighty's  bosom  leapt, 
With  whirlwind  arm,  fierce  minister  of  love ! 
Wherefore,  ere  virtue  o'er  thy  tomb  hath  wept, 
Angels  shall  lead  thee  to  the  throne  above. 
And  thou  from  forth  its  clouds  shall  hear  the  voice- 
Champion  of  freedom,  and  her  God,  rejoice  !" 


84  REMINISCENCES   OF 


she  joins  more  strength  of  understanding ;  and,  to  steady  prin- 
ciple, more  variety  of  accomplishments,  than  it  has  often  been  my 
lot  to  meet  with  among  the  fairer  sex.  When  I  praise  one  woman 
to  another  I  always  mean  a  compliment  to  both.  My  tenderest 
regards  to  your  dear  mother,  whom  I  really  long  to  spend  a  few 
hours  with,  and  believe  me  with  sincere  good  wishes. 

Yours,  &c., 

S.  T.  Coleridge.'' 

Fragment  of  a  Theological  letter  of  Air.  Coleridge,  date  un- 
known. 

*  -V'  ^  xhe  declaration  that  the  Deity  is  "the  sole  Operant" 
(Religious  Musings)  is  indeed  far  too  bold ;  may  easily  be  mis- 
construed into  Spinosism  ;  and,  therefore,  though  it  is  susceptible 
of  a  pious  and  justifiable  interpretation,  I  should  by  no  means  now 
use  such  a  phrase.  I  was  very  young  when  I  wrote  that  poem, 
and  my  religious  feelings  were  more  settled  than  my  theological 
notions. 

As  to  eternal  punishments,  1  can  only  say,  that  there  are  many 
passages  in  Scripture,  and  these  not  metaphorical,  which  declare 
that  all  flesh  shall  be  finally  saved ;  that  the  word  aionios  is  in- 
deed used  sometimes  when  eternity  must  be  meant,  but  so  is  the 
word  'Ancient  of  Days,'  yet  it  would  be  strange  reasoning  to  af- 
firm, that  therefore,  the  word  ancient  must  always  mean  eternal. 
The  literal  meanino-  of  '  aionios'  is  '  throuo-h  ao:es  ;'  that  is  indefi- 
nite ;  beyond  the  power  of  imagination  to  bound.  But  as  to  the 
effects  of  such  a  doctrine,  I  say.  First, — that  it  would  be  more 
pious  to  assert  nothing  concerning  it,  one  Avay  or  the  other. 

Ezra  says  well,  '  My  Son,  meditate  on  the  rewards  of  the  right- 
eous, and  examine  not  over-curiously  into  the  fate  of  the  wicked.' 
(This  apocryphal  Ezra  is  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  some 
Christian  in  the  first  age  of  Christianity.  Second, — that  however 
the  doctrine  is  now  broached,  and  publicly  preached  by  a  large  and 
increasing  sect,  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  conceal  it  from  such  per- 
sons as  would  be  likely  to  read  and  understand  the  '  Religious  Mus- 
ings.' Third, — That  if  the  offers  of  eternal  blessedness  ;  if  the  love 
of  God  ;  if  gratitude  ;  if  the  fear  of  punishment  unknown  indeed  as 
to  its  kind  and  duration,  but  declared  to  be  unimaginably  great ; 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  85 


if  the  possibility,  nay,  the  probability,  that  this  punishment  may 
be  followed  by  annihilation,  not  final  happiness,  cannot  divert  men 
from  wickedness  to  virtue ;  I  fear  there  will  be  no  charm  in  the 
word  Eternal. 

Fourth,  that  it  is  a  certain  fact,  that  scarcely  any  believe  eter- 
nal punishment  practically  with  relation  to  themselves.  They  all 
hope  in  God's  mercy,  till  they  make  it  a  presumptuous  watch- 
word for  religious  indifference.  And  this,  because  there  is  no  me- 
dium in  their  faith,  between  blessedness  and  misery, — infinite  in 
degree  and  duration ;  w^iich  latter  they  do  not  practically,  and 
with  their  whole  hearts,  believe.  It  is  opposite  to  their  clearest 
views  of  the  divine  attributes ;  for  God  cannot  be  vindictive,  nei- 
ther therefore  can  his  punishments  be  founded  on  a  vindictive 
principle.  They  must  be,  either  for  amendment,  or  warning  for 
others ;  but  eternal  punishment  precludes  the  idea  of  amendment, 
and  its  infliction,  after  the  day  of  judgment,  when  all  not  so  pun- 
ished shall  be  divinely  secured  from  the  possibility  of  falling,  ren- 
ders the  notion  of  warning  to  others  inapplicable. 

The  Catholics  are  far  more  afraid  of,  and  incomparably  more  in- 
fluenced in  their  conduct  by,  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,  than  Prot- 
estants by  that  of  hell  !  That  the  Catholics  practise  more  super- 
stitions than  morals,  is  the  effect  of  other  doctrines.  Supereroga- 
tion ;  invocation  of  saints ;  power  of  relics,  &c.,  &c.,  and  not  of 
Purgatory,  which  can  only  act  as  a  general  motive,  to  what  must 
depend  on  other  causes. 

Fifth,  and  lastly. — It  is  a  perilous  state  in  which  a  christian 
stands,  if  he  has  gotten  no  further  than  to  avoid  evil  from  the  fear 
of  hell !  This  is  no  part  of  the  christian  religion,  but  a  preparatory 
awakening  of  the  soul :  a  means  of  dispersing  those  gross  films 
which  render  the  eye  of  the  spirit  incapable  of  any  religion,  much 
less  of  such  a  faith  as  that  of  the  love  of  Christ. 

Tfie  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  but  perfect 
love  shutteth  out  fear.  It  is  sufficient  for  the  utmost  fervor  of 
gratitude  that  we  are  saved  from  punishments,  too  great  to  be 
conceived  ;  but  our  salvation  is  surely  not  complete,  till  by  the 
illumination  from  above,  we  are  made  to  know  '  the  exceeding  sin- 
fulness of  sin,'  and  that  horribleness  in  its  nature,  w^hich,  while  it 
involves  all  these  frightful  consequences,  is  yet,  of  itself,  more  af- 


86  REMINISCENCES   OF 


frightful  to  a  regenerated  soul  than  those  consequences.  To  him 
who  but  for  a  moment  felt  the  influence  of  God's  presence,  the 
thought  of  eternal  exclusion  from  the  sense  of  that  presence, 
would  .be  the  worst  hell  his  imagination  could  conceive. 

N.  B.  I  admit  of  no  right,  no  claim  of  a  creature  on  its  Cre- 
ator. I  speak  only  of  hopes  and  of  faith  deduced  from  inevitable 
reason,  the  gift  of  the  Creator ;  from  his  acknowledged  attributes. 
Above  all,  immortality  is  a  free  gift,  which  we  neither  do,  nor  can 
deserve.     ^^-     ^     *  S.  T.  C' 

To  descend  now  to  humbler  thuigs. 

There  are  persons  who  wilLbe  interested  in  learning  how  the 
bard  and  his  bookseller  managed  their  great  pecuniary  affairs.  A 
second  edition  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  poems  being  demanded,  I  was 
under  no  obligation,  the  copy-right  being  mine,  in  publishing  a 
second  edition,  to  make  Mr.  Coleridge  any  payment,  alterations  or 
additions  being  optional  with  him :  but  in  his  circumstances,  and 
to  show  that  my  desire  was  to  consider  Mr.  C.  even  more  than 
myself,  I  promised  him,  on  the  sale  of  the  second  edition  of  500, 
twenty  guineas.  The  following  was  his  reply :  (not  viewing  the 
subject  quite  in  the  right  light ;  but  this  w^as  of  little  conse- 
quence.) 

"Stowey,  Oct.  18th,  1796. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  no  mercenary  feelings,  I  verily  believe ;  but  I  hate  bar- 
tering at  any  time,  and  with  any  person ;  with  you  it  is  absolutely 
intolerable.  I  clearly  perceive  that  by  giving  me  tw^enty  guineas, 
on  the  sale  of  the  second  edition,  you  will  get  little  or  nothing  by 
the  additional  poems,  vmless  they  should  be  sufficiently  popular  to 
reach  a  third  edition,  which  soars  above  our  wildest  expectations. 
The  only  advantage  you  can  derive  therefore  from  the  purchase 
of  them  on  such  terms,  is,  simply,  that  my  poetry  is  more  likely 
to  sell  when  the  whole  may  be  had  in  one  volume,  price  5s.,  than 
when  it  is  scattered  in  two  volumes ;  the  one  4s.,  the  other  possi- 
bly 8s.  In  short,  you  will  get  nothing  directly,  but  only  indi- 
rectly, from  the  probable  circumstance,  that  these  additional  poems 
added  to  the  former,  will  give  a  more  rapid  sale  to  the  second 
edition  than  could  otherwise  be  expected,  and  cause  it  .possibly 


I 
S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  87 


to  be  reviewed  at  large.  Add  to  this,  that  by  omitting  every 
thing  pohtical,  I  widen  the  sphere  of  my  readers.  So  much  for 
you.  Now  for  myself.  You  must  see,  Cottle,  that  whatever 
money  I  should  receive  from  you,  would  result  from  the  circum- 
stances that  would  give  me  the  same,  or  more — if  I  published 
them  on  my  own  account.  I  mean  the  sale  of  the  poems.  I  can 
therefore  have  no  motive  to  make  such  conditions  with  you,  ex- 
cept the  wish  to  omit  poems  unworthy  of  me,  and  the  circum- 
stance that  our  separate  properties  would  aid  each  other  by  the 
union ;  and  whatever  advantage  this  might  be  to  me,  it  would,  of 
course,  be  equally  so  to  you.  The  only  difference  between  my 
publishing  the  poems  on  my  own  account,  and  yielding  them  up 
to  you ;  the  only  difference  I  say,  independent  of  the  above  stated 
differences,  is,  that,  in  one  case,  I  retain  the  property  for  ever,  in 
the  other  case,  I  lose  it  after  two  editions. 

However,  I  am  not  solicitous  to  have  anything  omitted,  except 
the  sonnet  to  Lord  Stanhope  and  the  ludicrous  poem;  I  should 
like  to  publish  the  best  pieces  together,  and  those  of  secondary 
splendor,  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  and  think  this  is  the  best 
quietus  of  the  whole  affair. 

Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

In  consequence  of  a  note  received  from  Mr.  Coleridge,  I  called 
at  the.  Bristol  Library,  where  I  found  Mr.  George  Catcott,  the 
Sub-Librarian,  much  excited.  "  See,"  said  he,  immediately  I  en- 
tered the  room,  "  here  is  a  letter  I  have  just  received  from  Mr. 
Coleridge.  Pray  look  at  it."  I  read  it.  "  Do  you  mean  to  give 
the  letter  to  me,  with  its  ponderous  contents  ?"  I  said.  *'  O  yes, 
take  it,"  he  replied.  This  gift  enables  me  to  lay  the  letter  in 
question  before  the  reader.  Mr.  George  Catcott,  though  of  singu- 
lar manners,  was  a  person  of  worth.  He  was  the  patron  of  Chat- 
terton,  and  chiefly  through  his  efforts,  the  Poems  of  "  Rowley" 
were  preserved. 

*^Stowey,  May,  1797. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  sent  a  curious  letter  to  George  Catcott.  He  has  alto- 
gether made  me  pay  five  shillings  !  for  postage,  by  his  letters  sent 


88  REMINISCENCES  OF 


all  the  way  to  Stowey,  requiring  me  to  return  books  to  the  Bris- 
tol Library.     ^      ^^    "*     ^ 

*'  Mr.  Catcott, 

I  beg  your  acceptance  of  all  the  inclosed  letters.  You  must 
not  think  lightly  of  the  present,  as  they  cost  me,  who  am  a  very 
poor  man,  five  shillings. 

With  respect  to  the  '  Bruck.  Hist.  Crit.'  although  by  accident 
they  were  registered  on  the  23d  of  March,  yet  they  were  not  re- 
moved from  the  Library  for  a  fortnight  after ;  and  when  I  received 
your  first  letter,  I  had  had  the  books  just  three  weeks.  Our 
learned  and  ingenious  Committee  may  read  through  two  quartos, 
that  is,  one  thousand  and  four  hundred  pages  of  close  printed 
Latin  and  Greek,  in  three  weeks,  for  aught  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary. I  pretend  to  no  such  intenseness  of  application,  or  rapidity 
of  genius. 

I  must  beg  you  to  inform  me,  by  Mr.  Cottle,  what  length  of 
time  is  allowed  by  the  rules  and  customs  of  our  institution  for 
each  book.  Whether  their  contents,  as  well  as  their  size,  are  con- 
sulted in  apportioning  the  time  ;  or  whether,  customarily,  any 
time  at  all  is  apportioned,  except  when  the  Committee,  in  indi- 
vidual cases,  choose  to  deem  it  proper.  I  subscribe  to  your 
library,  Mr.  Catcott,  not  to  read  novels,  or  books  of  quick  reading 
and  easy  digestion,  but  to  get  books  which  I  cannot  get  else- 
where,— books  of  massy  knowledge  ;  and  as  I  have  few  books  of 
my  own,  I  read  with  a  commonplace  book,  so  that  if  I  be  not  al- 
lowed a  longer  period  of  time  for  the  perusal  of  such  books,  I 
must  contrive  to  get  rid  of  my  subscription,  which  would  be  a 
thing  perfectly  useless,  except  so  far  as  it  gives  me  an  opportu- 
nity of  reading  your  little  expensive  notes  and  letters. 

Yours  in  christian  fellowship, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Mr.  C.  was  now  preparing  for  a  second  edition  of  his  Poems, 
and  had  sent  the  order  in  w^hich  they  were  to  be  printed,  with  the 
following  letter,  accompanying  two  new  Poems. 

"  Stowey,  Friday  Morning. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*     ^'     '^     If  you  do  not  like  the  following  verses,  or  if  you  do 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY. 


89 


not  think  them  Avorthy  of  an  edition  in  which  I  profess  to  give 
nothing  but  my  choicest  fish,  picked,  gutted,  and  cleaned,  please 
to  get  some  one  to  vrrite  them  out  and  send  them,  with  my  com- 
pliments, to  the  editor  of  the  I^ew  Monthly  Magazine.  But  if 
you  think  of  them  as  I  do  (most  probably  from  parental  dotage 
for  my  last  born)  let  them  immediately  follow  *  The  Kiss.' 

God  love  you, 

s.  T.  cr 

TO  AN  UNFORTUNATE  YOUNG  WOMAN,  • 

WHOM    I    HAD    KNOWN    IN    THE    DAYS    OF    HHR    INNOCENCE, 

Maiden  !  that  with  sullen  brow, 

Sitt'st behind  those  virgins  gay; 

Like  a  scorched,  and  mildew'd  bough. 

Leafless  mid  the  blooms  of  May. 

Inly  gnawing,  thy  distresses 

Mock  those  starts  of  v/anton  glee; 
And  thy  inmost  soul  confesses 

Chaste  Affection's  majesty. 

Loathing  thy  polluted  lot, 

Hie  thee,  Maiden  !  hie  thee  hence  : 
Seek  thy  weeping  mother's  cot, 

With  a  wiser  innocence  ! 

Mute  the  Lavrac*  and  forlorn 

While  she  moults  those  firstUng  plumes 
That  had  skimm'd  the  tender  corn, 

Or  the  bean-field's  od'rous  blooms  ; 

Soon  with  renovating  wing, 

Shall  she  dare  a  loftier  flight, 
Upwards  to  the  day-star  sing, 

And  embathe  in  heavenly  li<iht. 


# 


ALLEGORICAL    LINES    ON    THE    SAME    SUBJECT. 

Myrtle  Leaf,  that,  ill  besped. 

Finest  in  the  gladsome  ray. 
Soiled  beneath  the  common  tread, 

Far  from  thy  protecting  spray  ; 

When  the  scythesman  o'er  his  sheaf, 
Caroll'd  in  the  yellow  vale. 


*  The  Skylark. 


90 


REMINISCENCES  OF 


Slid,  I  saw  thee,  heedless  leaf, 
Love  the  dalliance  of  the  gale. 

'  •  Lightly  didst  tliou,  poor  fond  thing ! 

Heave  and  flutter  to  his  sighs 
While  the  flatterer  on  his  wing, 
Woo'd,  and  whisper'd  thee  to  rise. 

Gayly  from  thy  mother  stalk 

Wert  thou  danced  and  wafted  high ; 
Soon  on  this  unsheltered  walk, 
^  Flung  to  fade,  and  rot,  and  die ! 

The  two  poems  as  printed  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  edition  of  1885, 
here  follow,  which  by  being  compared  with  the  same  poems,  in 
their  preceding  original  form,  wdll  exhibit  a  study,  particularly  to 
the  Poet.^^ 


ON  AN  UNFORTUNATE  WOMAN  AT  THE  THEATRE. 

With  Mr.  Coleridge^ s  last  corrcdioiis. 

Maiden,  that  with  sullen  brow 

Sitt'st  behind  those  virgins  gay, 
Like  a  scorched  and  mildew' d  bough, 

Leafless  mid  the  blooms  of  May. 

Him  who  lured  thee  and  forsook, 

Oft  I  watch' d  with  angry  gaze, 
Fearful  saw  his  pleading  look. 

Anxious  heard  his  fervid  phrase. 

Soft  the  glances  of  the  youth. 

Soft  his  speech,  and  soft  his  sigh  ; 
But  no  sound  like  simple  truth, 

But  no  true  love  in  his  eye. 

Loathing  thy  polluted  lot. 

Hie  thee,  maiden,  hie  thee  hence  ! 
Seek  thy  weeping  mother's  cot, 

With  a  wiser  innocence. 

Thou  hast  known  deceit  and  folly. 
Thou  hast  felt  that  vice  is  woe ; 


*  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Mr.  C.  in  his  emendations,  should  have  excluded 
from  the  second  verse  of  the  first  poem,  the  two  best  lines  in  the  piece. 

''  And  thy  inmost  soul  confesses 
Chaste  Aflection's  majesty.'' 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND  R.    SOUTH EY.  91 


With  a  musing  melancholy, 
Inly  armed,  go,  maiden  !  go. 

Mother,  sage  of  self-dominion. 

Firm  thy  steps,  O  melancholy  ! 
The  strongest  plume  in  wisdom's  pinion 

Is  the  memory  of  past  folly. 

Mute  the  sky-lark  and  forlorn 

While  she  moults  the  firstling  plumes. 

That  had  skimm'd  the  tender  corn, 
Or  the  bean-field- s  odorous  blooms. 

Soon  with  renovated  wing. 

Shall  she  dare  a  loftier  flight. 
Upward  to  the  day-star  spring, 

And  embathe  in  heavenly  light. 

ON   AN   UNFORTUNATE   WOMAN, 

WHOM   THE    AUHHOR    HAD    KNOWN    IN    THE    DAYS    OP    HER    INNOCENCE. 

(  With  Mr.  Coleridge^s  last  corrections.) 

Myrtle-leaf  that  ill-besped, 

Finest  in  the  gladsome  ray  ; 
Soiled  beneath  the  common  tread, 

Far  from  thy  protecting  spray  ! 

When  the  partridge  o'er  the  sheaf 

Whirred  along  the  yellow  vale. 
Sad  I  saw  thee,  heedless  leaf! 

Love  the  dalliance  of  the  gale. 

Lightly  didst  thou,  foolish  thing  ! 

Heave  and  flutter  to  his  sighs, 
While  the  flatterer  on  his  wing, 

Woo'd  and  whispered  thee  to  rise. 

Gayly  from  thy  mother  stalk 

Wert  thou  danced  and  wafted  high — 
Soon  upon  this  sheltered  walk. 

Flung  to  fa.de,  to  rot,  and  die. 

Mr.  Coleridge  ha\ing  requested  me  to  decide  concerning  the 
introduction  into  his  vohime  of  the  two  preceding  Poems,  I  ap- 
proved of  the  second,  with  certain  alterations,  (which  was  ac- 
cordingly printed,)  and  rejected  the  first,  for  the  reasons  assigned 
in  the  following  letter.  This  letter  is  introduced  for  the  sake  of 
Mr.  C.'s  reply,  and  to  exhibit  the  candid  and  untenacious  quality 


9-2  REMINISCENCES   OF 


of  liis  mind.  As  a  mark  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  solicitude  to  obtain 
the  observations  of  another,  without  surrendering  his  own  ulti- 
mate judgment,  he  always  encouraged  my  remarks  on  his  compo- 
sitions. When  about  to  send  the  second  edition  of  his  Poems  to 
the  press,  he  thus  wrote  to  me. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

^:  '!:  *  Qj^  Thursday  morning,  by  Milton,  the  Stowey  car- 
rier, I  shall  send  you  a  parcel,  containing  the  book  of  my  Poems 
interleaved,  with  the  alterations,  and  likewise  the  prefaces,  w^hich 
I  shall  send  to  you  for  your  criticisms."     '^     ^     ^' 

This  is  mentioned  as  an  apology  for  the  freedom  of  the  remarks 
I  then  took,  for  it  w^as  always  my  principle  not  to  spare  a  friend 
through  mistaken  kindness ; — however  much  I  might  spare  my- 
self. 

"  Dear  Coleridge, 

You  have  refeiTed  your  two  last  Poems  to  my  judgment.  I 
do  not  think  your  first,  '  Maiden  !  that  with  sullen  brow,'  admis- 
sible, without  a  little  more  of  your  nice  picking. 

The  first  verse  is  happy,  but  two  objections  apply  to  the  sec- 
ond. To  my  ear,  (perhaps  too  fastidious,)  '  inl}^,'  and  'inmost,' 
are  too  closely  allied  for  the  same  stanza  ;  but  the  first  line  pre- 
sents a  more  serious  objection,  in  containing  a  transition  verb,  (or 
rather  a  participle,  with  the  same  government,)  without  an  ob- 
jective : 

'  Inly  gnawing,  thy  distresses 
Mock  those  starts  of  sudden  glee.' 

Gnawing  wliat  ?  surely  not  distresses  ;  though  the  bar  of  a  comma 
can  hardly  keep  them  apart.  In  order  to  give  it  any  decent 
meaning,  a  tortuous  ellipsis  is  necessary ;  to  pursue  w^hich,  gives 
the  reader  too  much  toil.  Rejecting  the  first  horse  in  the  team, 
the  three  last  are  beautiful  animals. 

To  the  last  line  in  the  third  stanza,  I  rather  object ;  '  With  a 
wiser  innocence.'  The  meaning,  it  appears  to  me,  would  be  more 
definite  and  in  character,  if  you  were  to  say,  as  you  do  not  repre- 
sent her  utterly  debased,  '  With  thy  wreck  of  innocence.'  The 
apostrophe  to  the  '  Weeping  mother's  cot,'  is  then  impressive. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  93 

In  the  fourth  stanza,  why  do  you  introduce  the  old  word 
'Lavrac,' a  word  requiring  an  explanatory  note  ?  Why  not  say 
at  once,  sky-lark  ?  A  short  poem,  you  know  better  than  /,  should 
be  smooth  as  oil,  and  lucid  as  glass.  The  two  last  stanzas,  with 
their  associates,  will  require  a  few  of  your  delicate  touches,  be- 
fore you  mount  them  on  the  nautilus  which  is  to  bear  them  buoy- 
ant round  the  world.  These  two  last  stanzas,  about  the  '  Lavrac,' 
though  good  in  themselves,  (with  the  exception  of  one  line,  which 
I  will  not  point  out,  its  roughness  absolutely  reminds  one  of 
*■  Bowling-green  Lane  !')  appear  to  me  to  be  awkward  appendages. 
The  illustration  is  too  much  extended.  It  is  labored  ;  far-fetched. 
It  is  an  infelicitous  attempt  to  blend  sportive  fancy  with  fact  that 
has  touched  the  heart,  and  which,  in  this  its  sobered  mood,  shrinks 
from  all  idle  play  of  imagination.  The  transition  is  too  abrupt 
from  truth  to  fancy.  This  simile  of  two  stanzas,  also,  out  of  five, 
is  a  tail  disproportioned  to  the  size  of  so  small  a  body  : — A  thought 
elongated,  ramified,  attenuated,  till  its  tendril  convolutions  have 
almost  escaped  from  their  parent  stem.  I  would  recommend  you 
to  let  this  Lavrac  fly  clean  away,  and  to  conclude  the  Poem  with 
the  third  affecting  stanza,  unless  you  can  continue  the  same  train 
of  feeling.  This  you  might  readily  effect,  by  urging  the  '  unfor- 
tunate,' in  seeking  her  '  weeping  mother's  cot,'  to  cheer  that 
mother  by  moral  renovation. 

I  now  come  to  the  second  Poem,  '  Allegorical  lines.'  This 
Poem  has  sound  materials,  but  it  wants  some  of  your  hard  tinker- 
ing. Pardon  my  unceremonious  language.  I  do  not  like  that 
affected  old  word,  'ill-besped,'  in  the  first  line.  To  ascribe  hu- 
man feelings  to  a  leaf,  as  you  have  done  through  the  whole  Poem, 
notwithstanding  your  authority,  as  I  conceive,  offensively  violates 
reason.  There  is  no  analogy ;  no  conceivable  bond  of  union  be- 
tween thought  and  inanimate  things  ;  and  it  is  about  as  rational  as 
though,  in  sober  reasoning,  you  were  to  make  the  polished  shoe 
remonstrate  with  its  wearer,  in  being  soiled  so  soon  after  it  had 
received  its  lustre.  It  is  the  utmost  stretch  of  human  concession, 
to  grant  thought  and  language  to  living  things ; — birds,  beasts, 
and  fishes ;  rights  which  the  old  fablers  have  rendered  inalienable, 
as  vehicles  of  instruction  ;  but  here,  as  I  should  think,  the  liberty 
ends.     It  is  always  a  pity  when  sense  and  poetry  cannot  go  to- 


94  REMINISCENCES   OF 


gether.  They  are  excellent  arm-in-arm  companions,  but  quarrel- 
some neighbors,  when  a  stile  separates  them.  The  first  line  in 
the  second  stanza  I  do  not  like. 

'  When  the  scythesman  o'er  his  sheaf.' 

Two  objections  apply  to  this  line.  The  word  scythesman,  for  a 
short  poem,  is  insufferably  rough ;  and  furthermore  requires  the 
inhalation  of  a  good  breath,  before  it  can  be  pronounced  ;  besides 
which,  as  the  second  objection,  by  connecting  sheaves  with  scythes- 
man, it  shoAvs  that  the  scythe  is  cutting  wheat,  whereas,  wheat 
is  cut  with  a  hook  or  sickle.  If  my  agricultural  knowledge  be 
correct,  barley  and  oats  are  cut  with  a  scythe,  but  these  grains 
are  not  put  into  sheaves.  Had  you  not  better  substitute  rustic, 
for  scythesman  ? 

The  first  line  in  the  third  stanza  is  not  happy.  The  spondee, 
in  a  compound  word,  sometimes  gives  a  favorable  emphasis ;  but 
to  my  taste,  rarely,  when  it  is  formed  of  a  double  epithet.  It  has 
the  appearance  of  labor,  like  tugging  against  a  hill.  Would  not 
'  foolish'  be  simpler  and  better  than  '  poor  fond  ?' 

I  have  one  other  objection,  and  that,  unfortunately,  is  in  the 
last  line. 

'  Flung  to  fade,  and  rot,  and  die  !' 

Surely,  if  it  rots,  it  must  die,  or  have  died. 
Query.     *  Flung  to  wither  and  to  die.' 

I  am  astonished  at  my  own  temerity.  This  is  reversing  the 
order  of  things  ;  the  pupil  correcting  his  master.  But,  candidly 
speaking,  I  do  think  these  two  poems  the  most  defective  of  any 
I  ever  saw  of  yours,  w^hich,  usually,  have  been  remarkably  free 
from  all  angles  on  which  the  race  of  snarlers  can  lay  hold. 

From,  &c.,  &c., 

Joseph  Cottle." 

Mr.  Coleridge's  reply  to  the  preceding  letter. 

'*  Wednesday  morning,  10  o'clock. 
My  dearest  Cottle, 

Hi  %  %  i  Y[\  "besped'  is  indeed  a  sad  blotch ;  but  after  hav- 
ing tried  at  least  a  hundred  ways,  before  I  sent  the  Poem  to  you, 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  95 

and  often  since,  I  find  it  incurable.  This  first  Poem  is  but  a  so-so 
composition.  I  wonder  I  could  have  been  so  blinded  by  the  ar- 
dor of  recent  composition,  as  to  see  anything  in  it. 

Your  remarks  are  ijerfectly  just  on  the  'Allegorical  lines,'  ex- 
cept that,  in  this  district,  corn  is  as  often  cut  with  a  scythe,  as  with 
a  hook.  However,  for  '  Scytliesman  read  Rustic.  For  'poor 
fond  thing  y'  read  foolish  thing,  and  for  'flung  to  fade,  and  rot,  and 
die,"*  read  flung  to  ivither  and  to  die/^' 

Milton  (the  carrier)  waits  impatiently. 

S.  T.  C." 

Having  once  inquired  of  Mr.  Coleridge  something  respecting  a 
nicety  in  hexameters,  he  asked  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  wrote  the 
following.  These  hexameters  appear  in  the  last  edition  of  Mr. 
C.'s  Poems,  though  in  a  less  correct  form,  and  without  the  con- 
densed and  well-expressed  preliminary  remarks.  Tv/o  new  lines 
are  here  also  added. 

"  The  Hexameter  consists  of  six  feet,  or  twelve  times.  These 
feet,  in  the  Latin  and  Greek  languages,  were  always  either  dactyls, 
or  spondees ;  the  time  of  a  dactyl,  being  only  that  of  a  spondee. 
In  modern  languages,  however,  metre  being  regulated  by  the  em- 
phasis, or  intonation  of  the  syllables,  and  not  by  the  position  of 
the  letters,  spondees  can  scarcely  exist,  except  in  compound  words, 
as  dark-red.  Our  dissyllables  are  for  the  most  part,  either  iambics, 
as  desire ;  or  trochees,  as  languid.  These  therefore,  but  chiefly 
the  latter,  we  must  admit,  instead  of  spondees.  The  four  first  feet 
of  each  line  may  be  dissyllable  feet,  or  dactyls,  or  both  com- 
mingled, as  best  suits  the  melody,  and  requisite  variety ;  but  the 
two  last  feet  must,  with  rare  exceptions,  be  uniformly,  the  former 
a  dactyl,  the  latter  a  dissyllable.  The  amphimacer  may,  in  Eng- 
lish, be  substituted  for  the  dactyl,  occasionally. 

*  Mr.  C.  afterwards  requested  that  the  "  allegorical  lines"  might  alone  be 
printed  in  his  second  edition,  with  this  title:  "To  an  Unfortunate  Woman, 
whom  the  Author  had  known  in  the  days  of  her  innocence."  The  first  Poem, 
'•'  Maiden,  that  with  sullen  brow,"  (fee,  he  meant  to  re- write,  and  which  he 
will  be  found  to  have  done,  with  considerable  effect. 


REMINISCENCES   OF 


EXAMPLES. 


Oh,  what  a  life  is  the  eye!     What  a  fine  and  inscrutable  essence! 

He  that  is  utterly  l)lind,  nor  glimpses  the  fire  that  warms  him ; 

He  that  never  beheld  the  swelling  breast  of  his  mother, 

He  that  smiled  at  the  bosom,  the  babe  that  smiles  in  its  slumber. 

Even  to  him  it  exists.     It  moves,  and  stirs  in  its  prison  ; 

Lives  with  a  separate  life,  and  "Is  it  a  spirit?"  he  murmurs, 

Sure  it  has  thoughts  of  its  own,  and  to  see  is  only  a  language. 

ANOTHER  SPECIMEN,  DESCRIBING  HEXAMETERS  IN  HEXAMETERS. 

Strongly  it  tilts  us  along,  o'er  leaping  and  limitless  billows, 
Nothing  before,  and  nothing  behind,  but  the  sky  and  the  ocean. 

ANOTHER  SPECIMEN. 

In  the  Hexameter  rises  the  fountain's  silvery  column 
In  the  Pentameter  still,  falling  melodious  down. 


THE    ENGLISH    DUODECASYLLABLE. 


This  consists  of  two  dactyls,  and  three  trochees ;  the  two  dac- 
tyls first ;  and  the  trochees  following. 

Hear,  my  beloved  !  an  old  Milesian  story ; 

High  and  embosomed  in  congregated  laurels. 

Glimmered  a  temple,  upon  a  breezy  headland 

In  the  dim  distance,  amid  the  skyey  billows. 

Rose  a  fair  island ;  the  God  of  flocks  had  blest  it : 

From  the  dim  shores  of  this  bleak  resounding  island, 

Oft  in  the  moon-light  a  little  boat  came  floating, 

Came  to  the  sea-cave  beneath  the  breezy  headland, 

Where  between  myrtles  a  path-way  stole  in  mazes, 

Up  to  the  groves  of  the  high  embosomed  temple. 

There  in  a  thicket  of  consecrated  roses, 

Oft  did  a  Priestess,  as  lovely  as  a  vision, 

Pouring  her  soul  to  the  son  of  Cytherea, 

Pray  him  to  hover  around  the  light  canoe  boat, 

And  with  invisible  pilotage  to  guide  it 

Over  the  dusky  waves,  till  the  nightly  sailor 

Shiv'ring  with  ecstacy  sank  upon  her  bosom. 

Now,  by  the  immortals !  he  was  a  beauteous  stripling, 

Worthy  to  dream  the  sweet  dream  of  young  Endymion, 

In  the  last  edition  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  poems,  (3  vols.,  1835,) 
there  is  a  poem,  called  "  The  Destiny  of  Nations,  a  Vision  ;" — 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  97 

a  sounding  title,  with  which  tlie  contents  but  ill  accord.  No  note 
conveys  information  to  the  reader,  what  was  the  origin  of  this 
poem  ;  nor  does  any  argument  show  its  object,  or  train  of  thought. 
Who  the  maid  is,  no  one  can  tell,  and  if  there  be  a  vision  respect- 
ing the  destiny  of  nations,  it  is  nearly  as  confused  and  incoherent 
as  a  true  vision  of  the  night ;  exciting  in  the  mind  some  such  un- 
defined wonderment,  as  must  have  accompanied  the  descent  of 
one  of  Peter  Wilkins'  winged  Aerials. 

The  reader  may  here  be  informed,  that  the  Second  book  of  Mr. 
Southey's  ''Joan  of  Arc,"  to  line  452,  as  acknowledged,  was 
written  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  with  the  intermixture  of  97  lines,  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Southey,  in  which  there  are  noble  sentiments,  expressed 
in  the  loftiest  poetical  diction ;  and  in  which  also  there  is  a  tute- 
lary spirit  introduced  to  instruct  and  counsel  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 
In  the  second  edition  of  ''  Joan  of  Arc,"  Mr,  Southey  omitted  the 
whole  of  these  lines,  and  intimated  to  Mr.  C.  his  intention  so  to 
do,  as  early  as  the  autumn  of  1795.  I  advised  Mr.  Coleridge, 
from  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the  lines,  to  print  them  in  the  second 
edition  of  his  poems.  To  this  he  assented,  but  observed,  that  he 
must  greatly  extend  them. 

Some  considerable  tnne  after,  he  read  me  the  poem  in  its  en- 
larged state,  calling  it  "  The  Progress  of  Liberty,  or  the  Visions 
of  the  Maid  of  Orleans."  After  hearing  it  read,  I  at  once  told 
him,  it  was  all  very  fine,  but  what  it  was  all  about,  I  could  not 
tell :  that  it  wanted,  I  thought,  an  obvious  design,  a  definite  pur- 
pose, a  cohesion  of  parts,  so  as  to  make  it  more  of  a  whole, 
instead  of  its  being,  as  it  then  was,  profuse,  but  detached  splen- 
dor, and  exhibiting  in  the  management,  nothing  like  construction. 
Thus  improved,  I  told  him  the  poem  would  be  worthy  of  him. 
Mr.  C.  was  evidently  partial  to  the  lines,  and  said,  '*  I  shall  con- 
sider of  what  you  say,  and  speak  again  about  them." 

Amongst  my  papers  I  find  two  or  three  notes  from  Mr.  C.  on 
this  subject,  subsequently  received. 

''  Stowey. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

If  you  delay  the  press  it  will  give  me  the  opportunity  I  so 
much  wish,    of  sending  my  'Visions  of   the  Maid  of   Arc/  to 

5 


98  REMINISCENCES   OF 


lace  'M 


Wordsworth,  who  lives*  not  above  twenty  miles  from  this  pla< 
and  to  Charles  Lamb,  whose  taste  and  judgment,  I  see  reason  to 
think  more  correct  and  philosopliical  than  my  own,  which  yet  I 
place  pretty  high."     *     ^'     '" 

In  a  succeeding  letter  Mr.  Coleridge  says, 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

The  lines  which  I  added  to  my  lines  in  the  *  Joan  of  Arc,'  have 
been  so  little  approved  by  Charles  Lamb,  to  whom  I  sent  them,  that 
although  I  differ  from  him  in  opinion,  I  have  not  heart  to  finish 
the  poem."  Mr.  Coleridge  in  the  same  letter,  thus  refers  to  his 
**  Ode  to  the  Departing  Year." 

-^  ^t  '^  '' So  much  for  an  *Ode,'  which  some  people  think 
superior  to  the  '  Bard'  of  Gray,  and  which  others  think  a  rant  of 
turgid  obscurity  ;  and  the  latter  are  the  more  numerous  class.  It 
is  not  obscure.  My  '  Religious  Musings'  I  know  are,  but  not  this 
*  Ode.'  " 

Mr.  C.  still  retained  a  peculiar  regard  for  these  lines  of  the 
*'  Visions"  and  once  meant  to  remodel  the  whole,  as  will  appear 
from  the  following  letter. 

"Stowey,  1797. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  deeply  regret,  that  my  anxieties  and  my  slothfulness,  acting  in 
a  combined  ratio,  prevented  me  from  finishing  my  *  Progress  of 
Liberty,  or  Visions  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,'  with  that  poem  at 
the  head  of  the  volume,  with  the  '  Ode'  in  the  middle,  and  the 
'Religious  Musings'  at  the  end.     '^     ^''     '^ 

In  the  '  Lines  on  the  Man  of  Ross,'  immediately  after  these 
lines, 

'  He  heard  the  widow's  heaven-breathed  prayer  of  praise, 
He  mark'd  the  sheltered  orphan's  tearful  gaze.' 

Please  to  add  these  two  lines. 

'  And  o'er  the  portion'd  maiden's  snowy  cheek, 
Bade  bridal  love  suffuse  its  blushes  meek.' 

♦  Mr.  Wordsworth  Hved  at  Racedown  before  he  removed  to  Allfoxden. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  99 

And  for  the  line, 

'  Beneath  this  roof,  if  thy  cheer'd  moments  pass, 
I  should  be  glad  to  substitute  this, 

'  If  near  this  roof  thy  wine-cheer'd  moments  pass.'  " 
These  emendations  came  too  late  for  admission  in  the  second 
edition ;  nor  have  they  appeared  in  the  last  edition.     They  will 
remain  therefore  for  insertion  in  any  future  edition  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge's Poems.* 

My  dear  Cottle,  '*Stowey,  1797. 

*  *  *  Public  affairs  are  in  stranore  confusion.  I  am  afraid 
that  I  shall  prove  at  least  as  good  a  Prophet  as  Bard.  Oh, 
doom'd  to  fall,  my  country !  enslaved  and  vile !  But  may  God 
make  me  a  foreboder  of  evils  never  to  come ! 

I  have  heard  from  Sheridan,  desiring  me  to  write  a  tragedy.  I 
have  no  genius  that  way ;  Robert  Southey  has.  I  think  highly 
of  his  '  Joan  of  Arc,'  and  cannot  help  prophesying,  that  he  will 
be  known  to  posterity,  as  Shakspeare's  great  grandson.  I  think 
he  will  write  a  tragedy  or  tragedies. 

Charles  Lloyd  has  given  me  his  Poems,  which  I  give  to  you, 
on  condition  that  you  print  them  in  this  Volume,  after  Charles 
Lamb's  Poems ;  the  title  page,  '  Poems,  by  S.  T.  Coleridge. 
Second  Edition  ;  to  which  are  added  Poems,  by  C.  Lamb,  and  C. 
Lloyd.'  C.  Lamb's  poems  will  occupy  about  forty  pages  ;  C. 
Lloyd's  at  least  one  hundred,  although  only  his  choice  fish. 

P.  S.     I  like  your  '  Lines  on  Savage. 'f 

God  bless  you,  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

*  Mr.  C,  after  much  hesitation,  had  intended  to  begin  his  second  edition 
with  this  Poem,  from  the  "  Joan  of  Arc."  in  its  enlarged,  but  imperfect  state, 
and  even  sent  it  to  the  press  ;  but  the  discouraging  remarks,  which  he  remem- 
bered, of  one  and  another,  at  the  last  moment,  shook  his  resolution,  and  occa- 
sioned him  to  withdraw  it  wholly.  He  commenced  his  volume  with  the  "  Ode 
to  the  Departing  Year." 

t  WRITTEN,(1793,)    WITH    A    PENCIL,    ON    THE    WALL    OF    THE    ROOM    IN 
BRISTOL    NEWGATE,    WHERE    SAVAGE    DIED. 

Here  Savage  lingered  long,  and  here  expired ! 
The  mean — the  proud — the  censured — the  admired ' 

If,  wandering  o'er  misfortune's  sad  retreat, 
Stranger !  these  lines  arrest  thy  passing  feet, 


100  REMINISCENCES    OF 

In  a  letter  received  from  Mr.  Coleridge  soon  after,  he  says, 
shall  now  stick  close  to  my  tragedy,  (called  Osorio,)  and  when  II 
have  finished  it,  shall  walk  to  Shaftesbury  to  spend  a  few  days ! 
with  Bowles.     From  thence   I  go  to  Salisbury,  and  thence  to 
Christchurch,  to  see  Southey." 

This  letter,  as  was  usual,  has  no  date,  but  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Wordsworth  determines  about  the  time  when  Mr.  C.  had  nearly 

finished  his  Tragedy. 

• 

'^  September  13,  1797. 

:f:  Ht  'i:  ^i 

Coleridge  is  gone  over  to  Bowles  with  his  Tragedy,  which  he 
has  finished  to  the  middle  of  the  5th  Act.  He  set  off  a  week 
ago." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  summer  of  1797,  presented  me  with  an 
extract  from  his  "  Osorio,"  which  is  here  given  to  the  reader,  from 
Mr.  C.'s  own  writing. 

And  recollection  urge  the  deeds  of  shame 

That  tarnish' d  once  an  unblest  poet's  fame  ; 

Judge  not  another  till  thyself  art  free, 

And  hear  the  gentle  voice  of  charity. 
''  No  friend  received  him,  and  no  mother's  care 
"  Sheltered  his  infant  innocence  with  prayer; 
"  No  father's  guardian  hand  his  youth  maintained, 
"  Call'd  forth  his  virtues,  or  from  vice  restrain'd." 

Reader !  hadst  thou  been  to  neglect  consign'd, 

And  cast  upon  the  mercy  of  mankind ; 

Through  the  w^i.ie  world,  like  Savage,  forced  to  stray, 

And  find,  like  him,  one  long  and  stormy  day ; 

Objects  less  noble  might  thy  soul  have  swayed, 

Or  crimes  around  thee  cast  a  deeper  shade. 

While  poring  o'er  another's  mad  career, 

Drop  for  thyself  the  penitential  tear ; 

Though  priz'd  by  friends,  and  nurs'd  in  innocence. 

How  oft  has  folly  wrong'd  thy  better  sense : 

But  if  some  virtues  in  thy  breast  there  be, 

Ask,  if  they  sprang  from  circumstance  or  thee ! 

And  ever  to  thy  heart  the  precept  bear, 

When  thine  own  conscience  smites,  a  wayward  brother  spare ! 

J.  C. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.   SOUTHEY.  101 

FOSTER-MOTHER'S  TALE. 

Scene,  Spain. 

FOSTER-MOTHER. 

Now  blessings  on  the  man,  whoe  'er  he  be, 

That  join'd  your  names  with  mine  I     O  my  sweet  lady, 

As  often  as  I  think  of  those  dear  times, 

When  you  two  httle  ones  would  stand,  at  eve, 

On  each  side  of  my  chair,  and  make  me  learn 

All  you  had  learnt  in  the  day,  and  how  to  talk 

In  gentle  phrase,  then  bid  me  sing  to  you — 

'Tis  more  like  heaven  to  come  than  what  kas  been. 


O  my  dear  mother !  this  strange  man  has  left  us, 
Troubled  with  wilder  fancies  than  the  moon 
Breeds  in  the  love-sick  maid  who  gazes  at  it, 
Till  lost  in  inward  vision,  with  wet  eye 
She  gazes  idly  ! But  that  entrance,  Mother ! 

FOSTER-MOTHER. 

Can  no  one  hear  1     It  is  a  perilous  tale  ! 


No  one. 


FOSTER-MOTHER. 


My  husband's  father  told  it  me, 
Poor  Old  Leoni — Angels  rest  his  soul ! 
He  was  a  woodman,  and  could  fell  and  saw 
With  lusty  arm.     You  know  that  huge  round  beam 
Which  props  the  hanging  wall  of  the  old  Chapel. 
Beneath  that  tree,  while  yet  it  was  a  tree. 
He  found  a  baby  wrapt  in  mosses,  lined 
With  thistle  beards,  and  such  small  locks  of  wool 
As  hang  on  brambles.     Well,  he  brought  him  home, 
And  reared  him  at  the  then  Lord  Velez'  cost. 
And  so  the  babe  grew  up  a  pretty  boy, 
A  pretty  boy  but  most  unteachable — 
And  never  learnt  a  prayer  nor  told  a  bead. 
But  knew  the  names  of  birds,  and  mocked  their  notes, 
And  whistled,  as  he  were  a  bird  himself 
And  all  the  autumn  'twas  his  only  play 
To  get  the  seeds  of  wild  flowers  and  to  plant  thera 
With  earth  and  water  on  the  stumps  of  trees. 
A  Friar  who  gathered  simples  in  the  wood, 
A  gray-haired  man — he  loved  this  little  boy, 


102  REMIxNISCENCES   OF 

The  boy  loved  him — and,  when  the  Friar  taught  him, 

He  soon  could  write  with  the  pen ;  and  from  that  time 

Lived  chiefly  at  the  Convent  or  the  Castle. 

So  he  became  a  very  learned  man. 

But  O  !  poor  youth  ! — he  read,  and  read,  and  read, 

'Till  his  brain  turned — and  ere  his  twentieth  year, 

He  had  unlawful  thoughts  of  many  things : 

And  though  he  prayed,  he  never  loved  to  pray 

With  holy  men,  nor  in  a  holy  place — 

But  yet  his  speech,  it  was  so  soft  and  sweet. 

The  late  Lord  Velez  ne'er  was  wearied  with  him. 

And  once  as  by  the  north  side  of  the  Chapel 

They  stood  together,  chained  in  deep  discourse, 

The  earth  heaved  under  them  with  such  a  groan, 

That  the  wall  tottered,  and  had  well-nigh  fallen 

Right  on  their  heads.     My  Lord  was  sorely  frightened : 

A  fever  seized  the  youth ;  and  he  made  confession 

Of  all  the  heretical  and  lawless  talk 

Which  brought  this  judgment :  so  the  youth  was  seized, 

And  cast  into  that  hole.     My  husband's  father 

Sobbed  like  a  child — it  almost  broke  his  heart  : 

And  once,  as  he  was  working  in  the  cellar, 

He  heard  a  voice  distinctly;  'twas  the  youth's, 

Who  sung  a  doleful  song  about  green  fields. 

How  sweet  it  were  on  lake  or  wild  savannah 

To  hunt  for  food,  and  be  a  naked  man, 

And  wander  up  and  down  at  liberty. 

He  always  doated  on  the  youth,  and  now 

His  love  grew  desperate ;  and  defying  death, 

He  made  that  cunning  eiitrance  I  described : 

And  the  young  man  escaped. 


'Tis  a  sweet  tale  : 
Such  as  would  lull  a  listening  child  to  sleep. 
His  rosy  face  besoiled  with  unwiped  tears. 
And  what  became  of  him  '? 

FOSTER-MOTHER. 

He  went  on  ship-board 
With  those  bold  voyagers,  who  made  discovery 
Of  golden  lands :  Leoni's  younger  brother 
Went  likewise,  and  when  he  returned  to  Spain, 
He  told  Leoni,  that  the  poor  mad  youth, 
Soon  after  they  arrived  in  that  new  world, 
In  spite  of  his  dissuasion,  seized  a  boat, 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  103 

And  all  alone  set  sail  by  silent  moonlight, 
Up  a  great  river,  great  as  any  sea, 
And  ne'er  was  heard  of  more :  but  'tis  supposed, 
He  lived  and  died  among  the  savage  men. 

The  folloAving  letter  of  Mr.  C.  was  in  answer  to  a  request  for 
some  long-promised  copy,  and  for  which  the  printer  importmied. 

^'Stowey,  1797. 
My  dear,  dear  Cottle, 

Have  patience,  and  everything  shall  be  done.  I  think  now  en- 
tirely of  your  brother  :^^  in  two  days  I  will  think  entirely  for  you. 
By  Wednesday  next  you  shall  have  Lloyd's  other  Poems,  with  all 
Lamb's,  &c.  &c.  *  ^  *  "  S.  T.  C." 

A  little  before  this  time,  a  singular  occurrence  happened  to  Mr. 
C.  during  a  pedestrian  excursion  into  Somersetshire,  as  detailed 
in  the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Wade. 

"  My  dear  Friend, 

I  am  here  after  a  most  tiresome  journey  ;  in  the  course  of  which 
a  woman  asked  me  if  I  knew  one  Coleridge,  of  Bristol,  I  ansv»^ered, 
I  had  heard  of  him.  '  Do  you  know,  (quoth  she,)  that  that  vile 
Jacobin  villain  drew  aAvay  a  young  man  of  our  parish,  one  Burnet,' 
tkc,  and  in  this  strain  did  the  woman  continue  for  near  an  hour ; 
heaping  on  me  every  name  of  abuse  that  the  parish  of  Billingsgate 
could  supply.  I  listened  very  particularly  ;  appeared  to  approve 
all  she  said,  exclaiming,  *  dear  me  !'  two  or  three  times,  and,  in 
fine,  so  completely  won  the  woman's  heart  by  my  civilities,  that  I 
had  not  courage  enough  to  undeceive  her.  '^*  '^'  '^ 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

P.  S.  You  are  a  good  prophet.  Oh,  into  v/hat  a  state  have 
the  scoundrels  brought  this  devoted  kingdom.  If  the  House  of 
Commons  would  but  melt  down  their  faces,  it  would  greatly  assist 
the  copper  currency — we  should  have  brass  enough." 

*  My  brother,  when  at  Cambridge,  had  written  a  Latin  poem  for  the  prize : 
the  subject,  "  Itaha,  Vastata,"  and  sent  it  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  with  whom  he  was 
on  friendly  terms,  in  MS.,  requesting  the  favor  of  his  remarks ;  and  this  he  did 
about  six  weeks  before  it  was  necessary  to  deliver  it  in.  Mr.  C,  in  an  imme- 
diate letter,  expressed  his  approbation  of  the  Poem,  and  cheerfully  undertook 
the  task;  but  with  a  little  of  his  procrastination,  he  returned  the  MS.  with  his 
remarks,  just  one  day  after  it  was  too  late  to  deliver  the  poem  in  ! 


IU4  REMINISCENCES    OF 


To  refer  now  to  another  subject.  Robert  Bums  had  died  in 
1790.  Finding  that  his  family  had  little  more  than  their  father's 
fame  to  support  them,  I  consulted  with  Mr.  Coleridge,  whether  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  add  to  the  fund  then  being  raised,  by 
promoting  a  subscription  in  Bristol,  in  furtherance  of  such  design. 
It  being  deemed  feasible,  while  Mr.  C.  undertook  to  write  a  Poem 
on  the  subject  for  a  Bristol  paper,  I  sent  the  following  advertise- 
ment to  the  same  vehicle. 

TO    THE    CITIZENS    OF    BRISTOL. 

it  will  doubtless  afford  much  pleasure  to  the  liberal  portion  of  the  inhabitants 
of  this  city,  to  understand  that  a  subscription  has  been  set  on  foot  in  different 
parts  of  the  kingdom,  for  the  wife  and  five  small  children  of  poor  Burns,  the 
Scotch  poet.     There  has  already  been  subscribed — 

At  Dumfries,  (where  the  Bard  lived,)  i;i04  12     0 

At  Edinburgh,  64  16     0 

At  Liverpool,  67  10     0 

Whoever,  in  Bristol,  from  their  admiration  of  departed  genius,  may  wish  to 
contribute,  in  rescuing  from  distress  the  family  of  Robert  Burns,  will  be  pleased 
to  leave  their  donations  with  Mr.  Cottle,  High-street.  Mi*.  Nichol,  of  Pall- 
mall,  London,  will  publicly  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  all  moneys  subscribed 
in  this  city. 

The  sum  we  transmitted  to  the  general  fund,  did  credit  to  the 
liberality  of  Bristol. 

Mr.  Coleridge  had  often,  in  the  keenest  terms,  expressed  his 
contemptuous  indignation  at  the  Scotch  patrons  of  the  poet,  in 
making  him  an  exciseman  !  so  that  something  biting  was  expected. 

The  Poem  was  entitled,  ''  To  a  Friend,  who  had  declared  his 
intention  of  writing  no  more  Poetry."  In  reading  the  Poem  im- 
mediately after  it  was  written,  the  rasping  force  which  Mr.  C. 
gave  to  the  following  concluding  Hues  Avas  inimitable. 

"  Is  thy  Burns  dead  ? 
And  shall  he  die  unwept,  and  sink  to  earth. 
Without  the  meed  of  one  melodious  tear  ? 
Thy  Burns,  and  nature's  own  beloved  Bard, 
Who  to  '  the  illustrious  of  his  native  land,'* 

*  Verbatim,  from  Burns's  dedication  of  his  Poems  to  the  nobility  and  gentry 
of  the  Caledonian  Hunt. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  105 

So  properly  did  look  for  patronage. 
Ghost  of  Msecenas !  hide  thy  blushing  face ! 
They  took  him  from  the  sickle  and  the  plough — 
To  guage  ale  firkins  ! 

O,  for  shame  return  ! 
On  a  bleak  rock,  midway  the  Aonian  Mount, 
There  stands  a  lone  and  melancholy  tree, 
Whose  aged  branches  to  the  midnight  blast 
Make  solemn  music,  pluck  its  darkest  bough, 
Ere  yet  th'  unwholesome  night  dew  be  exhaled, 
And  weeping,  wreathe  it  round  thy  Poet's  tomb  : 
Then  in  the  outskirts,  where  pollutions  grow. 
Pick  stinking  henbane,  and  the  dusky  flowers 
Of  night-shade,  or  its  red  and  tempting  fruit ; 
These,  with  stopped  nostril,  and  glove-guarded  hand. 
Knit  in  nice  intertexture,  so  to  twine 
Th' illustrious  brow  of  Scotch  Nobility!" 

If  Mr.  C.'s  nature  had  been  less  benevolent,  and  he  had  given 
full  vent  to  the  irascible  and  satirical,  the  restrained  elements  of 
which  abounded  in  his  spirit,  he  would  have  obtained  the  least  en- 
viable of  all  kinds  of  pre-eminence,  and  have  become  the  undis- 
puted modern  Juvenal. 

Mr.  George  Burnet  resided  sometimes  wdth  his  relations,  some- 
times with  Mr.  Coleridge,  at  Stowey.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  happened 
to  be  now  in  Bristol,  when  the  former  was  summoned  home  on 
account  of  Burnet's  sudden  and  serious  illness.  On  reaching 
Stowey,  Mr.  C.  sent  me  the  following  letter. 

"  Stowey. 
My  dear  Friend, 

I  found  George  Burnet  ill  enough,  heaven  knows.  Yellow 
Jaundice, — the  introductory  symptoms  very  violent.  I  return  to 
Bristol  on  Thursday,  and  shall  not  leave  till  all  he  done. 

Remind  Mrs.  Coleridge  of  the  kittens,  and  tell  her  that  George's 
brandy  is  just  what  smuggled  spirits  might  be  expected  to  be, 
execrable  !  The  smack  of  it  remains  in  my  mouth,  and  I  believe 
will  keep  me  most  horribly  temperate  for  half  a  century.  He 
(Burnet)  was  bit,  but  I  caught  the  Brandiphobia.^     [obliterations 

*  ^  V?  v:  %  %  % 

*  It  appears  that  Mr.  Burnet  had  been  prevailed  upon  by  smugglers  to  buy 
some  prime  cheap  brandy,  but  which  Mr.  Coleridge  affirmed  to  be  a  compound 
of  Hellebore,  kitchen  grease,  and  Assafoetida !  or  s  mething  as  bad. 


106  REMINISCENCES   OF 


— scratched  out,  well  knowing  that  you  never  allow  such  things 
to  pass,  unccnsured.  A  good  joke,  and  it  slipped  out  most  im- 
promptu— ishly . ) 

The  mice  play  the  very  devil  with  us.  It  irks  me  to  set  a  trap. 
By  all  the  whiskers  of  all  the  pussies  that  have  mewed  plaintively, 
or  amorously,  since  the  days  of  Whittington,  it  is  not  fair.  'Tis 
telling  a  lie.  'Tis  as  if  you  said,  '  Here  is  a  bit  of  toasted  cheese ; 
come,  httle  mice  !  I  invite  you !'  when,  oh,  foul  breach  of  the  rites 
of  hospitality  !  I  mean  to  assassinate  my  too  credulous  guests  !  No, 
I  cannot  set  a  trap,  but  I  should  vastly  like  to  make  a  Pitt — fall. 
(Smoke  the  Pun !)  But  concerning  the  mice,  advise  thou,  lest 
there  be  famine  in  the  land.  Such  a  year  of  scarcity !  Inconsid- 
erate mice !     Well,  well,  so  the  world  wags. 

Farewell,  S.  T.  C. 

P.  S.  A  mad  dog  ran  through  our  village,  and  bit  several  dogs. 
I  have  desired  the  farmers  to  be  attentive,  and  to-morrow  shall 
give  them,  in  writing,  the  first  symptoms  of  madness  in  a  dog. 

I  wish  my  pockets  were  as  yellow  as  George's  phiz  !"^ 

The  preceding  letter  is  about  a  fair  example  of  that  playful  and 
ebullient  imagination  for  which  Mr.  Coleridge,  at  this  time,  was 
distinguished.  Subjects  high  and  low  received  the  same  embel- 
lishment. Figure  crowded  on  figure,  and  image  on  image,  in  new 
and  perpetual  variety. 

He  was  once  reprobating  the  introduction  of  all  bull  and  bear 
similes  into  poetry.  *'Well,"  I  replied,  ''whatever  your  antipa- 
thies may  be  to  bulls  and  bears,  you  have  no  objection  to  wolves." 
"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  equally  abominate  tlie  whole  tribe  of  lion, 
bull,  bear,  boar,  and  wolf  similes.  They  are  more  threadbare  than 
a  beggar's  cast-off  coat.  From  their  rapid  transition  from  hand 
to  hand,  they  are  now  more  hot  and  sweaty  than  halfpence  on  a 
market  day.  I  would  as  soon  meet  a  wolf  in  the  open  field,  as  in 
a  friend's  poem."  I  then  rejoined,  *'  Your  objection,  once  at  least, 
to  wolf  similes,  was  not  quite  so  strong,  seeing  you  prevailed  on 
Mr.  Southey  to  throw  into  the  first  book  of  *  Joan  of  Arc,'  a  five- 
line  flaming  wolf  simile  of  yours.     One  could  almost  see  the  wolf 

*  Mr.  George  Burnet  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-two,  1807. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  107 

leap,  he  was  so  fierce!"     '^  Ah/'  said  Mr.  C,  "but  the  discredit 
rests  on  him,  not  on  me." 

The  simile,  in  question,  if  not  a  new  subject,  is  at  least,  perhaps, 
as  energetically  expressed  as  any  five  lines  in  Mr.  Coleridge's 
writings. 

"As  who,  through  many  a  summer  night  serene 
Had  hover.d  round  the  fold  with  coward  wish ; 
Horrid  with  brumal  ice,  the  fiercer  wolf, 
From  his  bleak  mountain  and  his  den  of  snows 
Leaps  terrible  and  mocks  the  shepherd's  spear." 

Book  1.  L.  47. 

"June,  1796. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  am  sojourning  for  a  few  days  at  Racedown,  Dorset,  the  man- 
sion of  our  friend  Wordsworth  ;  who  presents  his  kindest  respects 
to  you.         "^         ^^         '^' 

Wordsworth  admires  my  tragedy,  which  gives  me  great  hopes. 
Wordsworth  has  written  a  tragedy  himself.  I  speak  with  heart- 
felt sincerity,  and  I  think,  unblinded  judgment,  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  feel  myself  a  little  man  by  his  side,  and  yet.  I  do  not  think 
myself  a  less  man  than  I  formerly  thought  myself.  His  drama  is 
absolutely  wonderful.  You  know  I  do  not  commonly  speak  in 
such  abrupt  and  unmingled  phrases,  and  therefore  will  the  more 
readily  believe  me.  There  are,  in  the  piece,  those  profound 
touches  of  the  human  heart,  which  I  find  three  or  four  times  in 
the  *'  Robbers"  of  Schiller,  and  often  in  Shakspeare,  but  in  Words- 
worth, there  are  no  inequalities.  ^.-  ¥:  ^  * 
God  bless  you,  and  eke,* 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Respecting  this  tragedy  of  Mr.  W.'s,  parts  of  which  I  after- 
wards heard  with  the  highest  admiration,  Mr.  Coleridge  in  a  suc- 
ceeding letter  gave  me  the  following  information.  "  I  have  pro- 
cured for  Wordsworth's  tragedy,  an  introduction  to  Harris,  the 
manager  of  Co  vent  Garden,  who  has  promised  to  read  it  atten- 

*  The  reader  will  have  observed  a  pecuharity  in  most  of  Mr.  Coleridge's 
conclusions  to  his  letters.  He  generally  says,  "  God  bless  you,  and,  or  eke 
S.  T.  C."  so  as  to  involve  a  compound  blessing. 


108  REMINISCENCES   OF 


lively,  and  give  his  answer  immediately  ;  and  if  he  accepts  it,  to 
put  it  in  preparation  Avithout  an  hour's  delay." 

This  tragedy  may  or  may  not  have  been  deemed  suitable  for 
the  stage.  Should  the  latter  prove  the  case,  and  the  closet  be  its 
element,  the  public  after  these  intimations,  will  importunately  urge 
Mr.  W.  to  a  publication  of  this  dramatic  piece,  so  calculated  still 
to  augment  his  high  reputation. 

There  is  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  recording  the  favorable  senti- 
ments which  one  poet  and  man  of  genius  entertains  of  another ;  I 
therefore  state  that  Mr.  Coleridge  says,  in  a  letter  received  from 
him  March  8th,  1798,  "The  Giant  Wordsworth — God  love  him  ! 
When  I  speak  in  the  terms  of  admiration  due  to  his  intellect,  I 
fear  lest  these  terms  should  keep  out  of  sight  the  amiableness  of 
his  manner.  He  has  written  near  tw^elve  hundred  lines  of  blank 
verse,  superior,  I  hesitate  not  to  aver,  to  anything  in  our  lan- 
guage which  any  way  resembles  it." 

And  in  a  letter  received  from  Mr.  Coleridge,  1807,  he  says — 
speaking  of  his  friend  Mr.  W.,  "He  is  one,  whom  God  knows,  I 
love  and  honor  as  far  beyond  myself,  as  both  morally  and  intel- 
lectually he  is  above  me." 

"Stowey,  1797. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Wordsworth  and  his  exquisite  sister  are  w^ith  me.  She  is  a 
woman  indeed !  in  mind  I  mean,  and  heart ;  for  her  person  is 
such,  that  if  you  expected  to  see  a  pretty  w^oman,  you  would 
think  her  rather  ordinary  ;  if  you  expected  to  see  an  ordinary 
woman,  you  would  think  her  pretty  !  but  her  manners  are  simple, 
ardent,  impressive.  In  every  motion,  her  most  innocent  soul  out- 
beams  so  brightly,  that  who  saw  would  say, 

"  Guilt  was  a  thing  impossible  in  her." 

Her  information  various.  Her  eye  w^atchful  in  minutest  observa- 
tion of  nature  ;  and  her  taste,  a  perfect  electrometer.  It  bends, 
protrudes,  and  draws  in,  at  subtlest  beauties,  and  most  recondite 
faults. 

She  and  W.  desire  their  kindest  respects  to  you. 

Your  ever  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  C." 


I 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  109 

'^Stowey,  Sept.,  11 91, 
My  very  dear  Cottle, 

Your  illness  afflicts  me,  and  unless  1  receive  a  full  account  of 
you  by  Milton,  I  shall  be  very  uneasy,  so  do  not  fail  to  write. 

Herbert  Croft  is  in  Exeter  jail !  This  is  unlucky.  Poor  devil ! 
He  must  now  be  unpeppered."^  We  are  all  well.  Wordsworth  is 
well.     Hartley  sends  a  grin  to  you  ?     He  has  another  tooth  ! 

*  Mrs.  Newton,  Chatterton's  sister,  had  complained  to  me  of  the  dishonor- 
able conduct  of  a  gentleman,  who,  some  years  prior,  had  called  on  her,  ex- 
pressing an  enthusiastic  admiration  of  her  brother's  genius,  and  requesting  the 
melancholy  pleasure  of  seeing  all  the  letters,  then  in  her  and  her  mother's 
possession.  The  gentleman  appeared  quite  affected  when  he  saw  her  brother's 
writings,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  take  them  to  his  inn,  that  he  might  read 
them  at  leisure  ;  the  voice  of  sympathy  disarmed  suspicion,  and  the  timely 
present  of  a  guinea  and  a  half  induced  them  to  trust  him  with  the  MSS., 
under  the  promise  of  their  being  returned  in  half  an  hour.  They  were  never 
restored,  and  some  months  afterwards  the  whole  were  incorporated  and  pub- 
lished in  a  pamphlet,  entitled  "  Love  and  Madness,"  by  Mr.  Herbert  Croft. 
Mrs.  Chatterton  felt  the  grievous  wrong  that  had  been  done  her  by  this  publi- 
cation for  the  benefit  of  another,  as  she  often  received  presents  from  strangers 
who  called  to  see  her  son's  writings ;  she  remonstrated  with  Mr.  Croft  on  the 
subject,  and  received  10/.  with  expressions  of  his  regard. 

Here  the  affair  rested,  till  179G,  when  Mrs.  Newton  was  advised  to  wnte  to 
Mr.  Croft,  for  further  remuneration.  To  this  letter,  no  answer  was  returned. 
Mrs.  N.  then  wrote  again,  intimating  that,  acting  by  the  advice  of  some  re- 
spectable friends,  if  no  attention  was  paid  to  this  letter,  some  public  notice 
would  be  taken  of  the  manner  in  v/hich  he  had  obtained  her  brother's  papers. 
Upon  this  he  replied,  "  The  sort  of  threatening  letter  which  Mrs.  Newton's  is, 
will  never  succeed  with  me.  *  *  but  if  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  will 
do  me  the  favor  to  write  me  word,  through  Mrs.  Newton,  what  Chatterton's 
relations  consist  of.  and,  lahai  characters  they  bear !  I  will  try  by  everything  in 
my  power,  to  serve  them ;  yet  certainly  not,  if  any  of  them  pretend  to  have 
the  smallest  claim  upon  me." 

During  Mr.  Southey's  residence  in  Bristol,  I  informed  him  of  this  discredit- 
able affair,  and  accompanied  him  to  Mrs.  Newton,  who  confirmed  the  whole 
of  the  preceding  statement.  We  inquired  if  she  still  possessed  any  writings 
of  her  brother's  ]  Her  reply  was,  "  Nothing.  Mr.  Croft  had  them  all,"  with 
the  exception  of  one  precious  relic  of  no  value  as  a  publication,  which  she 
meant  to  retain  till  death. — The  identical,  pocket-book,  which  Chatterton  took 
with  him  to  London,  and  in  which  he  had  entered  his  cash  account  while 
there,  with  a  list  of  his  political  letters  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  the  first  person- 
ages in  the  land.  I  now  wrote  to  Mr.  Croft,  pointing  out  Mrs.  Newton's 
reasonable  claims,  and  urging  him,  by  a  timely  concession,  to  prevent  that 
publicity  which,  otherwise,  would  follow.     I  received  no  answer.     Mr.  Southey 


110  REMINISCENCES   OP 


In  the  wagon,  there  was  brought  from  Bath,  a  trunk,  in  order 
to  be  forwarded  to  Stowey,  directed,  '  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Stowey, 
near  Bridge  water.'     This,  we  suppose,  arrived  in  Bristol  on  Tues- 

then  determined  to  print  by  subscription,  all  Chatterton's  works,  including 
those  ascribed  to  Rowley,  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Newton  and  her  daughter. 
He  sent  "  Proposals"  to  the  Monthly  Magazine,  in  which  he  detailed  the  whole 
case  between  Mrs.  Newton  and  Mr.  Croft,  and  pubhshed  their  respective 
letters.  The  public  sympathized  rightly  on  the  occasion,  for  a  handsome  sub- 
scription followed.  Mr.  Crofl,  at  that  time  resided  at  Copenhagen,  when 
having  heard  of  Mr.  S.'s  exposure,  he  published  a  pamphlet,  with  the  following 
title. 

"  Chatterton,  and  Love  and  Madness.  A  Letter  from  Denmark,  respecting 
an  unprovoked  attack  made  upon  the  writer,  during  his  absence  from  Eng- 
land, &c."     By  the  Rev.  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  Bart.     In  this  he  says  : — 

"I  cannot  be  expected,  by  any  man  of  honor!  or  feeling,  to  descend  to 
answer  a  scurrilous  person,  signing  himself  Robert  Southey. 

"  I  have  ever  reverenced  the  little  finger  of  Chatterton,  more  than  Mr. 
Southey  knows  how  to  respect  the  poor  boy's  whole  body. 

"  I  learn  so  much  of  Mr.  Southey's  justice  from  his  abuse,  that  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  were  this  person  ever  to  disgrace  me  by  his  praise  ;  which 
might  happen,  did  he  wish  to  gain  money,  or  fame  !  by  becoming  the  officious 
editor  of  my  works  ! 

"  Innocence  would  less  often  fall  a  prey  to  villainy,  if  it  boldly  met  the 
whole  of  a  nefarious  accusation  ! 

"  The  great  Mr.  Southey  writes  prose  somewhat  like  bad  poetry,  and  poetry 
somewhat  like  bad  prose. 

"  Chatterton  was  the  glory  of  that  Bristol  which  I  hope  Mr.  S.  will  not 
further  disgrace, 

"  Mr.  Southey,  not  content  with  trying  to  '  filch  from  me  my  good  name,' 
in  order  to  enrich  himself,  (conduct  agreeable  enough  to  what  I  have  heard 
of  Bristol  Pantisocracy,)  but  condescends  to  steal  from  me  my  humble 
prose !"     &€.  &c. 

This  edition  of  Chatterton's  works  was  published  in  three  volumes,  8vo. 
during  a  ten  month's  residence  of  mine,  in  London,  in  the  year  1802.  Mr. 
Southey  allowed  me  to  make  what  observations  I  thought  proper  in  the  course 
of  the  work,  provided  that  I  affixed  to  them  my  initials  ;  and,  with  the  gene- 
rosity which  was  natural  to  him,  thus  wrote  in  the  preface  :  "  The  editors  (for 
so  much  of  the  business  has  devolved  on  Mr.  Cottle,  that  the  plural  terra  is 
necessary)  have  to  acknowledge,"  &c.  &c.  "  They  have  felt  peculiar  pleasure,, 
as  natives  of  the  same  city,  in  performing  this  act  of  justice  to  Chatterton's 
fame,  and  to  the  interests  of  his  family." 

The  result  of  our  labors  was,  that  Mrs.  Newton  received  more  than  three 
hundred  pounds,  as  the  produce  of  her  brother's  works.  This  money  rendered 
comfortable  the  last  days  of  herself  and  daughter,  and  Mr.  Southey  and  my- 


\ 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  Ill 

• 

day  or  Wednesday,  last  week.     It  belonged  to  Thelwall.     If  it 
be  not  forwarded  to  Stowey,  let  it  be  stopped,  and  not  sent. 

Give  my  kind  love  to  your  brother  Robert,  and  ax  him  to  put 
on  his  hat,  and  run,  without  delay  to  the  inn,  or  place,  by  what- 
ever bird,  beast,  fish,  or  man  distinguished,  where  Parsons's  Bath 
wagon  sets  up. 

From  your  truly  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

A  letter,  written,  at  this  time,  by  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Mr.  Wade, 
more  particularly  refers  to  Mr.  Thelwall's  visit  at  Stowey. 

self  derived  no  common  satisfaction  in  having  contributed  to  so  desirable  an 
end. 

In  this  edition  Mr.  Southey  arranged  all  the  old  materials,  and  the  con- 
sideration of  the  authenticity  of  Rowley,  I  regret  to  say,  devolved  exclusively 
on  me,  Mr.  S.  would  doubtless  have  been  more  successful  in  his  investiga- 
tions at  the  Bristol  Museum  and  Herald's  College  than  myself  I  however 
did  not  spare  my  best  efforts,  and  was  greatly  assisted  by  the  late  Mr.  Hasle- 
wood,  who  had  collected  one  copy  of  every  work  that  had  been  published  in 
the  Controversy.  And  as  I  had  obtained  much  new  documentary  evidence 
since  that  period,  besides  knowing  many  of  Chatterton's  personal  friends,  I 
condensed  the  arguments  in  his  favor  into  four  essays,  distinguished  by  the 
initials,  *'J.  C." 

In  the  year  1829,  having  received  still  an  accession  of  fresh  matter,  I  en- 
larged these  Essays,  and  printed  them  in  the  fourth  edition  of  "Malvern  Hills, 
Poems,  and  Essays."  I  thought  the  subject  worthy  a  full  discussion,  and 
final  settlement ;  and  to  this  point  I  believe  it  now  to  be  brought. 

Higher  authority  than  that  of  Mr.  Wordsworth  could  hardly  be  adduced, 
who  on  being  presented  by  me  with  a  copy  of  the  above  work,  thus  replied  : 
"  My  dear  sir, 

I  received  yesterday,  through  the  hands  of  Mr.  Southey.  a  very  agreeable 
mark  of  your  regard,  in  a  present  of  two  volumes  of  your  miscellaneous  works, 
for  which  accept  my  sincere  thanks.  I  have  read  a  good  deal  of  your  volumes 
with  much  pleasure,  and  in  particular,  the  '  Malvern  Hills,'  which  I  found 
greatly  improved.  I  have  also  read  the  '  Monody  on  Henderson,'  both  favor- 
ites of  mine.  And  I  have  renewed  my  acquaintance  with  your  observations 
on  Chatterton,  which  I  always  thought  very  highly  of,  as  being  conclusive  on 
the  subject  of  the  forgery.     *     *     * 

With  many  thanks,  I  remain,  my  dear  Mr.  Cottle, 
Your  old  and  affectionate  friend, 

William  Wordsworth. 

Patterdak,  August  2d,  1829. 


112  REMINISCENCES   OF 


^'Stowey,  1797. 
My  very  dear  Friend, 

*  *  ^'  John  Thelwall  is  a  very  warm-hearted,  honest 
man ;  and  disagreeing  as  we  do,  on  almost  every  point  of  religion, 
of  morals,  of  politics,  and  philosophy,  we  like  each  other  uncom- 
monly well.  He  is  a  great  favorite  with  Sara.  Energetic  ac- 
tivity of  mind  and  of  heart,  is  his  master  feature.  He  is  prompt 
to  conceive,  and  still  prompter  to  execute  ;  but  I  think  he  is  defi- 
cient in  that  patience  of  mind  which  can  look  intensely  and  fre- 
quently at  the  same  subject.  He  believes  and  disbelieves  with 
impassioned  confidence.  I  wish  to  see  him  doubting,  and  doubt- 
ing. He  is  intrepid,  eloquent,  and  honest.  Perhaps,  the  only  act- 
ing democrat  that  is  honest,  for  the  patriots  are  ragged  cattle  ;  a 
most  execrable  herd.  Arrogant  because  they  are  ignorant,  and 
boastful  of  the  strength  of  reason,  because  they  have  never  tried 
it  enough  to  know  its  weakness.  Oh  !  my  poor  country  !  The 
clouds  cover  thee.  There  is  not  one  spot  of  clear  blue  in  the 
whole  heaven ! 

My  love  to  all  whom  you  love,  and  believe  me,  with  brotherly 
affection,  with  esteem  and  gratitude,  and  every  warm  emotion  of 
the  heart, 

Your  faithful 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

''London,  1797. 
Dear  Cottle, 

If  Mrs.  Coleridge  be  in  Bristol,  pray  desire  her  to  write  to  me 
immediately,  and  I  beg  you,  the  moment  you  receive  this  letter, 
to  send  to  No.  17,  Newfoundland  Street,  to  know  whether  she  be 
there.  I  have  written  to  Stowey,  but  if  she  be  in  Bristol,  beg  her 
to  write  to  me  of  it  by  return  of  post,  that  I  may  immediately 
send  down  some  cash  for  her  travelling  expenses,  &c.  We  shall 
reside  in  London  for  the  next  four  months. 

God  bless  you,  Cottle,  I  love  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

P.  S.  The  volume  (second  edition,  Coleridge,  Lloyd,  and 
Lamb,)  is  a  most  beautiful  one.  You  have  determined  that  the 
three  Bards  shall  walk  up  Parnassus,  in  their  best  bib  and  tucker. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  113 

^'Stowey,  June  29th,  ]797. 
My  very  dear  Cottle, 

^  '''  ''^  Charles  Lamb  will  probably  be  here  in  about  a  fort- 
night. Could  you  not  contrive  to  put  yourself  in  a  Bridgewater 
coach,  and  T.  Poole  would  fetch  you  in  a  one-horse  chaise  to 
Stowey.     What  delight  would  it  not  give  us.     '^     ^'     ^ 

It  was  not  convenient  at  this  time  to  accept  Mr.  C.'s  invitation, 
but  going  to  Stowey  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards,  I  learnt  how 
pleasantly  the  interview  had  been  between  Ch.arles  Lamb  and 
himself.  It  is  delightful  even  at  the  present  momxent,  to  recall 
the  images  connected  with  my  then  visit  to  S-tovrey,  (which  those 
can  best  understand,  w4io,  like  myself,  have  escaped  from  severe 
duties  to  a  brief  season  of  happ}^  recreation.)  Mr.  Coleridge  wel- 
comed me  with  the  warmest  cordiality.  He  talked  with  affection 
of  his  old  school-fellow.  Lamb,  wJio  had  so  recently  left  him  ;  re- 
gretted he  had  not  an  opportunity  of  introducing  me  to  one  whom 
he  so  highly  valued.  Mr.  C.  took  peculiar  delight  in  assuring  me 
(at  least,  at  that  tiaie)  how  happy  he  was ;  exhibiting  success- 
ively, his  house,  his  garden,  his  orchard,  laden  with  fruit ;  and 
also  the  contrivances  he  had  made  to  unite  his  two  neighbors'  do- 
mains with  his  owm. 

After  the  grand  circuit  had  been  accomplished,  by  hospitable 
contrivance,  we  approached  the  "  Jasmine  harbor,"  when  to  our 
gratifying  surprise,  we  found  the  tripod  table  laden  with  de- 
hcious  bread  and  cheese,  surmounted  by  a  brown  mug  of  true 
Taunton  ale.  We  instinctively  took  our  seats  ;  and  there  must 
have  been  some  downright  witchery  in  tlie  provisions  which  sur- 
passed all  of  its  kind  ;  nothing  like  it  on  the  vvide  terrene,  and  one 
glass  of  the  Taunton,  settled  it  to  an  axiom.  While  the  dap- 
pled sunbeams  played  on  our  table  througli  the  umbrageous 
canopy,  the  very  birds  seem^ed  to  participate  in  our  felicities,  and 
poured  forth  their  selectest  anthems.  As  we  sat  in  our  sylvan 
hall  of  splendor,  a  company  of  the  happiest  mortals,  (T.  Poole, 
C.  Lloyd,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  and  J.  C.,)  the  bright-blue  heavens ; 
the  sporting  insects ;  the  balmy  zephyrs :  the  feathered  chor- 
isters ;  the  sympathy  of  friends,  all  augmented  the  pleasur- 
able to  the  highest  point  this  side  the  celestial !  Every  in- 
terstice of  our  hearts  being  filled  with  happiness,   as   a  conse- 


114  REMINISCENCES   OF 


(juence,  tliere  was  no  room  for  sorrow,  exorcised  as  it  now  was, 
and  hovering  around  at  unapproachable  distance.  With  our  spir- 
its thus  entranced,  though  vre  might  ^vveep  at  other  moments,  yet 
joyance  so  filled  all  within  and  without,  that  if,  at  this  juncture, 
tidings  had  been  brought  us,  that  an  irruption  of  the  ocean  had 
swallowed  up  all  our  brethren  of  Pekin  ;  from  the  pre-occupation 
of  our  minds,  ".poor  things,"  would  have  been  our  only  reply, 
wdth  anguish  put  off  till  the  morrow\  While  thus  elevated  in  the 
universal  current  of  our  feelings,  Mrs.  Coleridge  approached,  with 
her  fine  Hartley  ;  w^e  all  smiled,  but  the  father's  eye  beamed 
transcendental  joy  !  "  But,  all  things  have  an  end."  Yet,  pleasant 
it  is  for  memory  to  treasure  up  in  her  choicest  depository,  a  few 
such  scenes,  (these  sunny  spots  in  existence  !)  on  which  the  spirit 
may  repose,  when  the  rough,  adverse  wdnds  shake  and  disfigure  all 
besides. 

Although  so  familiar  with  the  name  and  character  of  Charles 
Lamb,  through  the  medium  of  S.  T.  Coleridge,  yet  my  inter- 
course, (with  the  exception  of  one  casual  visit,)  commenced  with 
him  in  the  year  1802,  during  a  residence  of  many  months  in  Lon- 
don, wdien  we  often  met.  After  this  period,  from  my  residing 
permanently  in  Bristol,  our  acquaintance  w^as  intermitted,  till 
1819,  w^icn  he  requested  the  loan  of  a  portrait,  for  the  purpose 
expressed  in  the  following  letter. 

''  Dear  Sir, 

It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  or  heard  from  you,  that  I  fear 
that  you  w411  consider  a  request  I  have  to  make,  as  impertinent. 
About  three  years  since,  when  I  was  in  Bristol,  I  made  an  effort 
to  see  you,  by  calling  at  Brunswick  Square,  but  you  were  from 
home.  The  request  I  have  to  make,  is,  that  you  would  very  much 
oblige  me,  if  you  have  any  small  portrait  of  yourself,  by  allowing 
me  to  have  it  copied,  to  accompany  a  selection  of  the  likenesses 
of  'Living  Bard's,'  which  a  most  particular  friend  of  mine  is 
making.  If  you  have  no  objection,  and  v>^ould  oblige  me  by  trans- 
mitting such  portrait,  I  will  answer  for  taking  the  greatest  care 
of  it,  and  for  its  safe  return.  I  hope  you  wall  pardon  the  liberty, 
From  an  old  friend  and  wxll  wisher, 

Charles  Lamb." 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  115 

In  consequence  of  this  application,  I  sent  Charles  Lamb  a  por- 
trait, by  Branwhite,  and  enclosed  for  his  acceptance,  the  second 
part  of  my  "  Messiah."  When  the  portrait  was  returned,  it  was  ac- 
companied with  the  following  letter,  containing  a  few  judicious  re- 
marks, such  as  might  have  been  expected  from  olie  whose  judg- 
ment Mr.  Coleridge  so  highly  estimated. 

"  Dear  Sir, 

My  friend,  whom  you  have  obliged  by  the  loan  of  your  picture, 
has  had  it  very  nicely  copied,  (and  a  very  spirited  drawing  it  is ; 
so  every  one  thinks  who  has  seen  it.)  The  copy  is  not  much  infe- 
rior to  yours,  done  by  a  daughter  of  Joseph's,  R.A. 

I  accompany  the  picture  with  my  warm  thanks,  both  for  that, 
and  your  better  favor  the  '  Messiah,'  which  I  assure  you  I  have 
read  through  with  great  pleasure.  The  verses  have  great  sweet- 
ness, and  a  New  Testament  plainness  about  them  which  affected 
me  very  much.  I  could  just  wish  that  in  page  63,  you  had  omit- 
ted the  lines  71  and  72,  and  had  ended  the  period  with, 

'  The  willowy  brook  was  there,  but  that  sweet  sound — 
When  to  be  heard  again  on  earthly  ground !' 

Two  very  sweet  lines  and  the  sense  perfect. 
And  in  page  154,  line  68, 

'  He  spake,  "  I  come,  ordain'd  a  world  to  save. 
To  be  baptiz'd  by  thee  in  Jordan's  wave."  ' 

These  words  are  hardly  borne  out  by  the  story,  and  seem  scarce 
accordant  with  the  modesty  with  which  our  Lord  came  to  take  his 
common  portion  among  the  baptismal  candidates.  They  also  an- 
ti'sjpate  the  beauty  of  John's  recognition  of  the  Messiah,  and  the 
subsequent  confirmation  by  the  Voice  and  Dove. 

You  will  excuse  the  remarks  of  an  old  brother  bard,  whose 
career,  though  long  since  pretty  well  stopped,  was  coeval  in  its 
beginning  with  your  own,  and  who  is  sorry  his  lot  has  been 
always  to  be  so  distant  from  you.  It  is  not  likely  that  C.  L.  will 
see  Bristol  again,  but  if  J.  C.  should  ever  visit  London,  he  will 
be  a  most  welcome  visitor  to  C.  L.  My  sister  joins  in  cordial  re- 
membrances. Dear  sir,  Yours  truly, 

Charles  Lamb." 


116  REMINISCENCES    OF 


J 


Having  always  entertained  for  Charles  Lamb  a  very  kind  feel- 
ing, independently  of  my  admiration  of  his  wit  and  genius,  I  re- 
quested his  acceptance  of  my  poem  of  the  "  Fall  of  Cambria,"  to 
which  he  sent  the  following  characteristic  reply. 

^'London,  India  House,  May  26,  1829. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  am  quite  ashamed  of  not  having  acknowledged  your  kind 
present  earlier,  but  that  unknown  something  which  was  never  yet 
discovered,  though  so  often  speculated  upon,  v/hich  stands  in  the 
way  of  lazy  folks'  answering  letters,  has  presented  its  usual  obsta- 
cle. It  is  not  forgetfulness,  nor  disrespect,  nor  incivility,  but  ter- 
ribly like  all  these  bad  things. 

I  have  been  in  my  time  a  great  Epistolatory  scribbler,  but  the 
passion,  and  with  it  the  facility,  at  length  wears  out,  and  it  must 
be  pumped  up  again  by  the  hea\y  machinery  of  duty  or  gratitude, 
when  it  should  run  free.  I  have  read  your  '  Fall  of  Cambria' 
with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  did  your  '  Messiah.'  Your  Cambrian 
Poem  I  shall  be  tempted  to  repeat  oftenest,  as  human  poems  take 
me  in  a  mood  more  frequently  congenial  than  divine.  The  char- 
acter of  Llewellyn  pleases  me  more  than  anything  else  perhaps ; 
and  then  some  of  the  Lyrical  pieces  are  fine  varieties. 

It  w^as  quite  a  mistake  that  I  could  dislike  anything  you  should 
write  against  Lord  Byron,  for  I  have  a  thorough  aversion  to  his 
character,  and  a  very  moderate  admiration  of  his  genius ;  he  is 
great  in  so  little  a  w^ay.  To  be  a  poet  is  to  be  the  man ;  not  a 
petty  portion  of  occasional  low  passion  worked  up  in  a  permanent 
form  of  humanity.  Shakespeare  has  thrust  such  rubbishly  feel- 
ings into  a  corner — the  dark  dusky  heart  of  Don  John,  in  the 
'  Much  Ado  about  Nojthing.'  The  fact  is,  I  have  not  seen  your 
'  Expostulatory  Epistle'  to  him.  I  was  not  aw^are,  till  your  ques- 
tion, that  it  was  out.     I  shall  inquire  and  get  it  forthwith. 

Southey  is  in  town,  w^hom  I  have  seen  slightly.  Wordsworth 
expected,  whom  I  hope  to  see  much  of.  I  w^rite  with  accelerated 
motion,  for  I  have  two  or  three  bothering  clerks  and  brokers 
about  me,  who  always  press  in  proportion  as  you  seem  to  be 
doing  something  that  is  not  business.  I  could  exclaim  a  little 
profanely,  but  I  think  you  do  not  like  swearing. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY^.  117 

I  conclude,  begging  you  to  consider  that  I  feel  myself  much 
obliged  by  your  kindness,  and  shall  be  most  happy  at  any  and  at 
all  times  to  hear  from  you. 

Dear  Sir,  yours  truly,  Charles  Lamb." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  second  edition  of  his  poems,  transferred 
some  of  the  poems  which  appeared  in  the  first,  to  a  supplement, 
and,  amongst  others,  some  verses  addressed  to  myself,  with  the 
following  notice. 

"  The  first  in  order  of  these  verses  which  I  have  thus  endeavored  to  reprieve 
from  immediate  oblivion,  was  originally  addressed  "  To  the  Author  of  Poems 
published  anonymously  at  Bristol."  A  second  edition  of  these  poems  has 
lately  appeared,  with  the  author's  name  prefixed:  (Joseph  Cottle)  and  I  could 
not  refuse  myself  the  gratification  of  seeing  the  name  of  that  man  amongst  my 
poems,  without  whose  kindness  they  would  probably  have  remained  unpub- 
lished ;  and  to  whom  I  know  myself  greatly,  and  variously  obliged,  as  a  poet, 
a  man,  and  a  christian. 

LINES 

ADDRESSED  TO  JOSEPH  COTTLE. 

My  honor'd  friend !  whose  verse  concise,  yet  clear. 

Tunes  to  smooth  melody  unconquer'd  sense. 

May  your  fame  fadeless  live,  "  as  never  seer" 

The  ivy  wreathes  yon  oak,  whose  broad  defence 

Embow'rs  me  from  noon's  sultry  influence  ! 

For  like  that  nameless  riv'let  stealing  by. 

Your  modest  verse  to  musing  quiet  dear 

Is  rich  with  tints  heaven-borrow'd,  the  charm'd  eye 

Shall  gaze  undazzled  there,  and  love  the  soften'd  sky 

Circling  the  base  of  the  poetic  mount 

A  stream  there  is,  which  rolls  in  lazy  flow ; 

Its  cold-black  waters  from  oblivion's  fount ; 

The  vapor  poison'd  birds  that  fly  too  low, 

Fall  with  dead  swoop,  and  to  the  bottom  go. 

Escaped  that  heavy  stream  on  pinion  fleet, 

Beneath  the  mountain's  lofty  frowning  brow, 

Ere  aught  of  perilous  ascent  you  meet, 

A  mead  of  mildest  charm  delays  the  unlab'ring  feet. 

Not  there  the  cloud-climb  rock,  sublime  and  vast, 
That  like  some  giant  king,  o'er-glooms  the  hill ; 
Nor  there  the  pine-grove  to  the  midnight  blast 
Makes  solemn  music !     But  the  unceasing  rill 


118  REMINISCENCES   OF 

To  the  soft  wren  or  lark's  descending  trill 
Murmurs  sweet  under-song  'mid  jasmine  bowers. 
In  this  same  pleasant  meadow  at  your  will, 
I  ween,  you  wander' d — there  collecting  flow'rs 
Of  sober  tint,  and  herbs  of  medicinal  powers  ! 

There  for  the  mon arch-murder' d  soldier's  tomb 
You  wove  the  unfinish'd*  wreath  of  saddest  hues, 
And  to  that  holier f  chaplet  added  bloom 
Besprinkling  it  with  Jordan's  cleansing  dews. 
But  low !  your:j:  Henderson  awakes  the  Muse — 
His  spirit  beckon'd  from  the  mountain's  height ! 
You  left  the  plain  and  soar'd  mid  richer  views  ! 
So  nature  mourn'd,  when  sank  the  first  day's  light, 
With  stars,  unseen  before,  spangling  her  robe  of  night 

Still  soar  my  friend  those  richer  views  among, 

Strong,  rapid,  fervent,  flashing  fancy's  beam  ! 

Virtue  and  truth  shall  love  your  gentler  song : 

But  Poesy  demands  th'  impassion'd  theme : 

Wak'd  by  heaven's  silent  dews  at  Eve's  mild  gleam 

What  balmy  sweets  Pomona  breathes  around '? 

But  if  the  vex'd  air  rush  a  stormy  stream, 

Or  autumn's  shrill  gust  moan  in  plaintive  sound 

With  fruits  and  flowers  she  loads  the  tempest  honor'd  ground. 

While  the  first  edition  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  poems  was  in  the 
press,  I  received  from  him  the  following  letter. 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

^  ^  %  ^k  There  is  a  beautiful  little  poetic  epistle  of  Sara's, 
which  I  mean  to  print  here.  What  if  her  epistle  to  you  were 
likewise  printed,  so  as  to  have  two  of  her  poems  ?  It  is  remark- 
ably elegant,  and  would  do  honor  to  any  volume  of  poems." 

The  first  epistle  I  never  received.  The  second  was  printed  in 
the  first  edition  of  Mr.  C.'s  poems,  and  in  no  other.  On  account 
of  its  merit  it  is  here  inserted. 

*  War,  a  Fragment.  f  John  the  Baptist,  a  poem. 

J  Monody  on  John  Henderson. 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.        119 
'  THE  PRODUCTION  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY,* 

ADDRESSED  TO  HER  FRIEND,  J.  COTTLE. 


She  had  lost  her  thimble,  and  her  complaint  being  accidentally  overheard 
by  her  friend,  he  immediately  sent  her  four  others  to  take  her  choice  from. 


As  oft  mine  eye,  with  careless  glance, 
Has  gallop'd  o'er  some  old  romance. 
Of  speaking  birds,  and  steeds  with  wings, 
Giants  and  dwarfs,  and  fiends,  and  kings : 
Beyond  the  rest,  with  more  attentive  care, 
I've  loved  to  read  of  elfin-favor' d  fair — 
How  if  she  longed  for  aught  beneath  the  sky, 
And  suffered  to  escape  one  votive  sigh, 
Wafted  along  on  viewless  pinions  airy. 
It  laid  itself  obsequious  at  her  feet : 

Such  things  I  thought  we  might  not  hope  to  meet, 

Save  in  the  dear  delicious  land  of  fairy ! 

But  now  (by  proof  I  know  it  well) 

There's  still  some  peril  in  free  wishing — 

Politeness  is  a  licensed  spell, 

And  you,  dear  sir,  the  arch-magician. 

You  much  perplexed  me  by  the  various  set. 
They  were  indeed  an  elegant  quartette ! 
My  mind  went  to  and  fro,  and  wavered  long ; 
At*  length  I've  chosen  (Samuel  thinks  me  wrong) 
That  around  whose  azure  brim, 
Silver  figures  seem  to  swim. 
Like  fleece-white  clouds,  that  on  the  skyey  blue, 
Waked  by  no  breeze,  the  self-same  shapes  retain ; 
Or  ocean  nymphs,  with  limbs  of  snowy  hue, 
Slow  floating  o'er  the  calm  cerulean  plain. 

Just  such  a  one,  mon  cher  ami 
(The  finger-shield  of  industry,) 
The  inventive  gods,  I  deem,  to  Pallas  gave, 
What  time  the  vain  Arachne,  madly  brave, 
Challenged  the  blue-eyed  virgin  of  the  sky 
A  duel  in  embroidered  work  to  try. 
And  hence  the  thimbled  finger  of  grave  Pallas, 
To  th'  erring  needle's  point  was  more  than  callous. 

♦  Miss  Sarah  Fricker,  afterwards,  Mrs.  Coleridge, 


120  REMINISCENCES    OF 

But,  ah,  the  poor  Arachne !  she,  unarmed, 
Blund'ring,  through  hasty  eagernesss,  alarmed 
With  all  a  rival's  hopes,  a  mortal's  fears, 
Still  miss'd  the  stitch,  and  stained  the  web  with  tears. 

Unnumbered  punctures,  small,  yet  sore, 

Full  fretfully  the  maiden  bore. 

Till  she  her  lily  finger  found 

Crimson'd  with  many  a  tiny  wound, 
And  to  her  eyes,  suffused  with  watery  woe, 

Her  flower-embroidered  web  danced  dim,  I  wist, 

Like  blossom'd  shrubs,  in  a  quick-moving  mist ; 
Till  vanquish'd,  the  despairing  maid  sank  low. 

O,  Bard  !  whom  sure  no  common  muse  inspires, 
I  heard  your  verse  that  glows  with  vestal  fires ; 
And  I  from  unwatch'd  needle's  erring  point 
Had  surely  suffered  on  each  finger-joint. 
Those  wounds,  which  erst  did  poor  Arachne  meet ; 

While  he,  the  much-loved  object  of  my  choice, 
(My  bosom  thriUing  with  enthusiast  heat) 

Pour'd  on  my  ear,  with  deep  impressive  voice, 
How  the  great  Prophet  of  the  desert  stood, 
And  preach'd  of  penitence  by  Jordan's  flood  : 
On  war  ;  or  else  the  legendary  lays, 
In  simplest  measures  hymn'd  to  Alla's  praise  ; 
Or  what  the  Bard  from  his  heart's  inmost  stores, 
O'er  his  friend's  grave  in  loftier  numbers  pours : 
Yes,  Bard  polite  !  you  but  obey'd  the  laws 
Of  justice,  when  the  thimble  you  had  sent ; 
What  wounds  your  thought-bewildering  muse  might  cause, 
'Tis  well,  your  finger-shielded  gifts  prevent. 

Sara.-? 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

I  have  heard  nothing  of  my  Tragedy,  except  some  silly  remarks 
of  Kemble's,  to  whom  a  friend  showed  it ;  it  does  not  appear  to 
me  that  there  is  a  shadow  of  probability  that  it  will  be  accepted. 
It  gave  me  no  pain,  and  great  pleasure,  in  finding  that  it  gave  me 
no  pain. 

I  had  rather  hoped  than  believed  that  I  was  possessed  of  so 
much  philosophical  capability.  Sheridan  most  certainly  has  not 
used  me  with  common  justice.  The  proposal  came  from  himself, 
and  although  this  circumstance  did  not  bind  him  to  accept  the 
tragedy,  it  certainly  bound  him  to  eveiy,  and  that  the  earliest. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  12J 

attention  to  it.     I  suppose  it  is  snugly  in  his  green  bag,  if  it  have 
not  emigrated  to  the  kitchen. 

I  sent  to  the  Monthly  Magazine,  (1797,)  three  mock  Sonnets,  in 
ridicule  of  my  own  Poems,  and  Charles  Lloyd's,  and  Lamb's,  &c. 
&c.,  exposing  that  affectation  of  unaffectedness,  of  jumping  and 
misplaced  accent,  in  commonplace  epithets,  flat  lines  forced  into 
poetry  by  italics,  (signifying  how  well  and  mouthishly  the  author 
would  read  them,)  puny  pathos,  &c.  &c.,  the  instances  were  almost 
all  taken  from  myself,  and  Lloyd,  and  Lamb. 

I  signed  them  '  Nehemiah  Higginbotham.'  I  think  they  may 
do  good  to  our  young  Bards, 

God  love  you,  S.  T.  Cr 

P.  S.  I  am  translating  the  '  Oberon,'  of  Wieland  ;  it  is  a  diffi- 
cult language,  and  I  can  translate  at  least  as  fast  as  I  can  construe. 
I  have  made  also  a  very  considerable  proficiency  in  the  French 
language,  and  study  it  daily,  and  daily  study  the  German  ;  so 
that  I  am  not,  and  have  not  been  idle.     "'^     '^     '^ 


SONNETS, 

ATTEMPTED    IN    THE    MANNER    OF    CONTEMPORARY    WRITERS. 

SONNET  I 

Pensive,  at  eve,  on  the  hard  world  I  mus'd. 

And  my  poor  heart  was  sad :  so  at  the  moon 

I  gazed,  and  sigh'd,  and  sigh'd !  for  ah !  how  soon 
Eve  darkens  into  night !     Mine  eye  perus'd 
With  tearful  vacancy  the  dampy  grass, 

Which  wept  and  gUtter'd  in  the  paly  ray  : 

And  I  did  pause  me  on  my  lonely  way. 
And  muse  me  on  those  wretched  ones,  who  pass 

O'er  the  black  heath  of  sorrow.     But  alas ! 
Most  of  MYSELF  I  thought :  when  it  befel 
That  the  sooth  spirit  of  the  breezy  wood 

Breath'd  in  mine  ear — '  All  this  is  very  well ; 
But  much  of  one  thing  is  for  no-tJilng  good." 

Ah !  my  poor  heart's  inexplicable  swell ! 

Nehemiah  Higginbotham. 

6 


122  REMINISCEINCES   OF 


SONNET   It 

TO      fU  M  P  L  1  C  1  T  Y  . 

O  !  I  do  love  thee,  meek  simplicity  ! 

For  of  thy  lays,  the  lulling  simpleness 

Goes  to  my  heart,  and  soothes  each  small  distress, 
Distress,  though  small,  yet  haply  great  to  me  ! 
'Tis  true,  on  lady  fortune's  gentlest  pad, 

I  amble  on  ;  yet,  though  I  know  not  why, 

So  sad  I  am  ! — but  should  a  fiiend  and  I 
Grow  cool  and  miff,  oh,  I  am  very  sad  ! 
And  then  with  sonnets,  and  with  sympath}^. 

My  dreamy  bosom's  mystic  woes  1  pall ; 
Now  of  my  false  friend  'plaining  plaintively, 

Now  ra\dng  at  mankind  in  gener-al 

But  whether  sad  or  fierce,  'tis  simple  all. 
All  very  simple,  meek  simplicity  ! 

Nkhemiah  Higginbotham. 


'  SONNET  m. 

ON    A    RUINED    HOUSE    WHICH    JACK    BUILT. 

And  this  reft  house  is  that,  the  which  he  built, 
Lamented  Jack !  and  here  his  malt  he  piled. 
Cautious  in  vain  !     These  rats  that  squeak' d  so  wild, 

Squeak,  not  unconscious  of  their  fathers'  guilt. 

Did  ye  not  see  her  gleaming  through  the  glade  ? 
Belike  'twas  she,  the  Maiden  all  forlorn 
What  though  she  milk  no  cow  with  crumpled  horn. 

Yet,  aye  she  haunts  the  dale  where  erst  she  stray 'd  : 

And,  aye  beside  her  stalks  her  amorous  knight ! 
Still  on  his  thighs  his  wonted  brogues  are  worn, 
And  through  those  brogues,  still  tatter'd  and  betorn. 

His  hindward  charms  gleam  an  unearthly  white  ; 

As  when  through  broken  clouds,  at  night's  liigh  moon, 

Peeps  in  fair  fragments  forth — the  full-orb'd  harvest-moon ! 

Nehemiah  Higginbotham.* 

*  Relating  to  these  Sonnets,  chiefly  satirizing  himself,  Mr.  C.  has  said,  in 
his  "  Biographia;"  <'  So  general  at  that  time,  and  so  decided  was  the  opinion 
concerning  the  characteristic  vices  of  my  style,  that  a  celebrated  physician, 
(Dr.  Beddoes)  speaking  of  me,  in  other  respects,  with  his  usual  kindness,  to  a 
gentleman  who  was  about  to  meet  me  at  a  dinner  party,  could  not  however 
resist  giving  him  a  hint  not  to  mention,  in  my  presence,  '  The  House  that  Jack 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  123 

The  moralist  rightly  says,  "  There  is  nothing  permanent  in  this 
uncertain  world  ;"  and  even  most  friendships  do  not  partake  of  the 
"Munition  of  Rocks." 

Alas  !  the  spirit  of  impartiality  now  compels  me  to  record,  that 
the  inseparable  Trio;  even  the  three  "  Groscolliases"  themselves, 
had,  somehow  or  other,  been  touched  with  the  negative  magnet, 
and  their  particles,  in  opposition  flew  off  "  as  far  as  from  hence  to 
the  utmost  pole."  I  never  rightly  understood  the  cause  of  this 
dissension,  but  shrewdly  suspected  that  that  unwelcome  and  in- 
sidious intruder,  Mr.  Nehemiah  Higginbotham,  had  no  inconsider- 
able share  in  it. 

Mr.  C.  even  determined  in  his  third  projected  edition,  (1798,) 
that  the  productions  of  his  two  late  friends  should  be  excluded. 
The  three  next  letters  refer  to  this  unpleasant  affair.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  add,  that  the  difference  was  of  short  continuance. 

The  Latin  motto,  prefixed  to  thd  second  edition  of  Mr.  C.'s 
poems,  puzzled  everybody  to  know  from  what  author  it  was  de- 
rived. One  and  another  inquired  of  me,  to  no  purpose,  and  ex- 
pressed a  wish  that  Mr.  C.  had  been  clearer  in  his  citation,  as  ''no 
one  could  understand  it."  On  my  naming  this  to  Mr.  Coleridge, 
he  laughed  heartily,  and  said,  "  It  was  all  a  hoax."  "  Not  meet- 
ing" said  he,    ''  with  a  suitable  motto,  I  invented  one,  and  with 

Built/  for  that  I  was  as  sore  as  a  boil  about  that  sonnet,  he  not  knowing  that 
I  myself  was  the  author  of  it. 

Mr.  Coleridge  had  a  singular  taste  for  satirizing  himself.  He  has  spoken 
of  another  ludicrous  consequence  arising  out  of  this  indulgence. 

"  An  amateur  perfonner  in  verse,  expressed  to  a  common  friend,  a  strong 
desire  to  be  introduced  to  me,  but  hesitated  in  accepting  my  friend's  immediate 
offer,  on  the  score,  that  '  he  was,  he  must  acknowledge,  the  author  of  a  con- 
founded severe  epigram  on  Mr.  C.'s  '  Ancient  Mariner,'  which  had  given  him 
great  pain.'  I  assured  my  friend,  that  if  the  epigram  was  a  good  one,  it 
would  only  increase  my  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  the  author,  and 
begged  to  hear  it  recited ;  when,  to  my  no  less  surprise  than  amusement,  it 
proved  to  be  one  which  I  had  myself,  sometime  before,  written  and  inserted  in 
the  Morning  Post." 

TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER. 

Your  Poem  must  eternal  be, 

Dear  Sir,  it  cannot  fail, 
For  'tis  incomprehensible, 

And  without  head  or  tail." 


124  REMINISCENCES   OF 


nextfl 


references  purposely  obscure,"  as  will  be  explained  in  the 
letter.* 

"March  8th,  1798. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

1  have  been  confined  to  my  bed  for  some  days,  through  a  fever 
occasioned  by  the  stump  of  a  tooth,  which  baffled  chirurgical  ef- 
forts to  eject,  and  which,  by  affecting  my  eye,  affected  my  stom- 
ach, and  through  that  my  whole  frame.  I  am  better,  but  still 
weak,  in  consequence  of  such  long  sleeplessness  and  wearying 
pains  ;  weak,  very  weak.  I  thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your 
late  kindness,  and  in  a  few  weeks  will  either  repay  you  in  money, 
or  by  verses,  as  you  like.  With  regard  to  Lloyd's  verses,  it  is 
curious  that  I  should  be  applied  to,  '  to  be  persuaded  to  resign,' 
and  in  hopes  that  I  might  '  consent  to  give  up'  (unknown  by  whom) 
a  number  of  poems  which  were  published  at  the  earnest  request 
of  the  author,  who  assured  me,  that  the  circumstance  was  of  *  no 
trivial  import  to  his  happiness !' 

Times  change  and  people  change ;  but  let  us  keep  our  souls  in 
quietness  !  I  have  no  objection  to  any  disposal  of  Lloyd's  poems 
except  that  of  their  being  republished  with  mine.  The  motto 
which  I  had  prefixed — "  Duplex,  (fee."  from  Groscollias,  has  placed 
me  in  a  ridiculous  situation,  but  it  was  a  foolish  and  presumptuous 
start  of  affectionateness,  and  I  am  not  unwilling  to  incur  the  pun- 
ishment due  to  my  folly.  By  past  experiences  we  build  up  our 
moral  being.     God  bless  you.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

A  reference  to  this  "  stump  of  a  tooth,"  was  more  particularly 
made,  in  the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Wade. 

"March  21st,  1798. 
My  very  dear  friend, 

I  have  even  now  returned  from  a  little  excursion  that  I  have 
taken  for  the  confirmation  of  my  health,  which  had  suffered  a  rude 
assault  from  the  anguish  of  the  stump  of  a  tooth  which  had  baf- 

*  The  motto  was  the  following : 
Duplex  nobis  vinculum,  et  amicitae  et  similium  junctarumque  CamcEnanim; 
quod   utinam   neque   mors   solvat,    neque   temporis   longinquitas ! — GroscoU. 
Bjrisf..  ad  Car.  Utenhm).  et  Ptol.  Laix.  Tost. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  125 

fled  the  attempts  of  our  surgeon  here,  and  which  confined  me  to 
my  bed.  I  suffered  much  from  the  disease,  and  more  from  the 
doctor ;  rather  than  again  put  my  mouth  into  his  hands,  I  would 
put  my  hands  into  a  hon's  mouth.  I  am  happy  to  hear  of,  and 
should  be  most  happy  to  see,  the  plumpness  and  progression  of 
your  dear  boy ;  but — yes,  my  dear  Wade,  it  must  be  a  but,  much 
as  I  hate  the  vford  but.  Well, — but  I  cannot  attend  the  chemical 
lectures.  I  have  many  reasons,  but  the  greatest,  or  at  least  the 
most  ostensible  reason,  is,  that  I  cannot  leave  Mrs.  C.  at  that 
time ;  our  house  is  an  uncomfortable  one ;  our  surgeon  may  be,  for 
aught  I  know,  a  lineal  descendant  of  Esculapius  himself,  but  if  so, 
in  the  repeated  transfusion  of  life  from  father  to  son,  through  so 
many  generations,  the  wit  and  knowledge  being  subtile  spirits, 
have  evaporated.     ^     ^     '^' 

Ever  your  grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

^'1778. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  regret  that  aught  should  have  disturbed  our  tranquillity  ;  re- 
specting Lloyd,  I  am  willing  to  believe  myself  in  part  mistaken, 
and  so  let  all  things  be  as  before.  I  have  no  wish  respecting 
these  poems,  either  for  or  against  re-publication  with  mine.  As 
to  the  third  edition,  if  there  be  occasion  for  it  immediately,  it  must 
be  published  with  some  alterations,  but  no  additions  or  omissions. 
The  Pixies,  Chatterton,  and  some  dozen  others,  shall  be  printed  at 
the  end  of  the  volume,  under  the  title  of  Juvenile  Poems,  and  in 
this  case  I  will  send  you  the  volume  immediately.  But  if  there 
be  no  occasion  for  the  volume  to  go  to  press  for  ten  weeks,  at  the 
expiration  of  that  time,  I  would  make  it  a  volume  worthy  of  me, 
and  omit  utterly  near  one-half  of  the  present  volume — a  sacrifice 
to  pitch  black  obhvion.^ 

*  Eminent  writers,  particularly  poets,  should  ever  remember,  they  wield  a 
mighty  engine  for  evil  or  for  good.  An  author,  Hke  Mr.  Coleridge,  may  con- 
fidently talk  of  consigning  to  "  pitch  black  oblivion,"  writings  which  he  deems 
immoral,  or  calculated  to  disparage  his  genius ;  but  on  works  once  given  to 
the  world,  the  public  lay  too  tenacious  a  hold,  to  consult  even  the  wishes  of 
writers  themselves.  Improve  they  may,  but  withdraw  they  cannot!  So 
much  the  more  is  circumspection  required. 


120  REMINISCENCES   OF 


3 


Whichever  be  the  case,  I  will  repay  you  the  money  you  have 
paid  for  me,  in  money,  and  in  a  few  weeks  ;  or  if  you  should  prefer 
the  latter  proposal,  i.  e.  the  not  sending  me  to  the  press  for  ten 
weeks,  I  should  insist  on  considering  the  additions,  however  large, 
as  my  payment  to  you  for  the  omissions,  which,  indeed,  Vv  ould  be 
but  strict  justice.  , 

I  am  requested  by  Wordsworth,  to  put  to  you  the  following 
questions.  What  could  you,  conveniently  and  prudently,  and 
what  would  you  give  for — first,  our  two  Tragedies,  with  small 
prefaces,  containing  an  analysis  of  our  principal  characters  ?  Ex- 
clusive of  the  prefaces,  the  tragedies  are,  together,  five  thousand 
lines  ;  w^hich,  in  printing,  from  the  dialogue  form,  and  directions 
respecting  actors  and  scenery,  are  at  least  equal  to  six  thousand. 
To  be  delivered  to  you  within  a  w^eek  of  the  date  of  your  answer 
to  this  letter ;  and  the  money  which  you  offer,  to  be  paid  to  us  at 
the  end  of  four  months  from  the  same  date  ;  none  to  be  paid  be- 
fore, all  to  be  paid  then. 

Second. — Wordsworth's  '  Salisbury  Plain,'  and  '  Tale  of  a  Wo- 
man ;'  which  two  poems,  with  a  few  others  which  he  will  add,  and 
the  notes,  will  make  a  volume.  This  to  be  delivered  to  you  within 
three  weeks  of  the  date  of  your  answer,  and  the  money  to  be  paid 
as  before,  at  the  end  of  four  months  from  the  present  date. 

Do  not,  my  dearest  Cottle,  harass  yourself  about  the  imagined 
great  merit  of  the  compositions,  or  be  reluctant  to  offer  what  you 
can  prudently  offer,  from  an  idea  that  the  poems  are  worth  more. 
But  calculate  what  you  can  do,  with  reference  simply  to  yourself, 
and  answer  as  speedily  as  you  can ;  and  believe  me  your  sincere, 
grateful,  and  affectionate  friend  and  brother, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

I  offered  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Wordsworth,  thirty  guineas 
each,  as  proposed,  for  their  two  tragedies  ;  but  vrhich,  after  some 
hesitation,  was  declined,  from  the  hope  of  introducing  one,  or 
both,  on  the  stao^e.  The  volume  of  Poems  w^as  left  for  some  fu- 
ture  arrangement. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

I  never  involved  you  in  the  bickering,  and  never  suspected  you, 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  127 

in  any  one  action  of  your  life,  of  practising  guile  against  any  hu- 
man being,  except  yourself. 

Your  letter  supplied  only  one  in  a  link  of  circumstances,  that 
informed  me  of  some  things,  and  perhaps  deceived  me  in  others. 
1  shall  write  to-day  to  Lloyd.  I  do  not  think  1  shall  come  to 
Bristol  for  these  lectures  of  Avhich  you  speak.''*^  I  ardently  wish 
for  the  knowledge,  but  Mrs.  Coleridge  is  within  a  month  of  her 
confinement,  and  I  cannot,  I  ought  not  to  leave  her ;  especially  as 
her  surgeon  is  not  a  Jo4rn  Hunter,  nor  my  house  likely  to  perish 
from  a  plethora  of  comforts.  Besides,  there  are  other  things  that 
jniofht  disturb  that  evenness  of  benevolent  feelincr,  which  I  wish 
to  cultivate. 

I  am  much  better,  and  at  present  at  Allfoxden,  and  my  neW 
and  tender  health  is  all  over  me  like  a  voluptuous  feeling.  God 
bless  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

When  the  before  noticed  dissension  occurred,  Charles  Lamb  and 
Charles  Lloyd,  between  w^hom  a  strong  friendship  had  latterly 
sprung  up,  became  alienated  from  Mr.  Coleridge,  and  cherished 
something  of  an  indignant  feeling.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  C. 
Lamb  determined  to  desert  the  inglorious  ground  of  neutrality,; 
and  to  commence  active  operations  against  his  late  friend  ;  but 
the  arrows  were  taken  from  his  own  peculiar  armory ;  tipped,, 
not  with  iron,  but  wit.  He  sent  Mr.  Coleridge  the  following  let-, 
ter.  Mr.  Coleridge  gave  me  this  letter,  saying,  ''  These  young- 
visionaries  will  do  each  other  no  good."  The  following  is  Charles 
Lamb's  letter  to  Mr.  C. 

THESES    aUJGDAM    THEOLOGiC^. 

Ist.     Whether  God  loves  a  lying  angel  better  than  a  true  man  1 

2d.      Whether  the  archangel  Uriel  could  affirm  an  untruth,  and  if  he  could, 

whether  he  would  *? 
3d.      Whether  honesty  be  an  angelic  virtue,  or  not  rather  to  be  reckoned 

among   those  qualities   which   the   schoolmen    term   '  Virtutes   minus 

splendida3  V 
4th.     Whether  the  higher  order  of  Seraphim  illuminati  ever  sneer  '? 
5th.     Whether  pure  intelligences  can  love  1 


Chemical  lectures,  by  Dr.  Beddoes,  delivered  at  the  Red  Lodge. 


1-28  REMINISCENCES    OF 


"^ 


Cth.  Whether  the  Seraphim  ardentes  do  not  manifest  their  virtues,  by  the 
way  of  vision  and  theory  ;  and  whether  practice  be  not  a  sub-celestial 
and  merely  human  virtue  ? 

7th.  Whether  the  vision  beatific  be  anything  more  or  less  than  a  perpetual 
rcpresentment,  to  each  individual  angel,  of  his  own  present  attainments, 
and  future  capabilities,  somehow  in  the  manner  of  mortal  looking- 
glasses,  reflecting  a  perpetual  complacency  and  self-satisfaction  ? 

:Jth.  and  last.  Whether  an  immortal  and  amenable  soul  may  not  come  to  be 
condemned  at  last,  and  the  man  never  suspect  it  beforehand  '? 

Learned  Sir,  my  friend, 

Presuming  on  our  long  habits  of  friendship,  and  emboldened 
further  by  your  late  liberal  permission  to  avail  myself  of  your 
correspondence,  in  case  I  want  any  knowledge,  (which  I  intend  to 
do,  when  I  have  no  Encyclopedia,  or  Ladies'  Magazine  at  hand  to 
refer  to,  in  any  matter  of  science,)  I  now  submit  to  your  inquiries 
the  above  theological  propositions,  to  be  by  you  defended  or  op- 
pugned, or  both,  in  the  schools  of  Germany,  whither,  I  am  told, 
you  are  departing,  to  the  utter  dissatisfaction  of  your  native  Dev- 
onshire, and  regret  of  universal  England  ;  but  to  my  own  indi\ddual 
consolation,  if,  through  the  channel  of  your  wished  return,  learned 
sir,  my  friend,  may  be  transmitted  to  this  our  island,  from  those 
famous  theological  wits  of  Leipsic  and  Gottingen,  any  rays  of  illu- 
mination, in  vain  to  be  derived  from  the  home  growth  of  our  Eng- 
lish halls  and  colleges.  Finally  wishing,  learned  sir,  that  you 
may  see  Schiller,  and  swing  in  a  wood,  (vide  poems,)  and  sit  upon 
a  tun,  and  eat  fat  hams  of  Westphalia, 
I  remain, 
Your  friend  and  docile  pupil,  to  instruct, 

Charles  Lamb." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  at  first,  appeared  greatly  hurt  at  this  letter ;  an 
impression  which  I  endeavored  to  counteract,  by  considering  it 
as  a  slight  ebullition  of  feeling  that  would  soon  subside  ;  and  which 
happily  proved  to  be  the  case.  I  also  felt  concern,  not  only  that 
there  should  be  a  dissension  between  old  friends,  but  lest  Mr. 
Coleridge  should  be  inconvenienced  in  a  pecuniary  way  by  the 
withdrawal  of  C.  Lloyd  from  his  domestic  roof.  To  restore  and 
heal,  therefore,  I  wrote  a  conciliatory  letter  to  Charles  Lloyd,  to 
which  he  thus  replied. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  129 

"Birmingham,  '7th  June,  1798. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  thank  you  many  times  for  your  pleasing  intelligence  respect- 
ing Coleridge.  I  cannot  think  that  I  have  acted  with,  or  from, 
passion  towards  him.  Even  my  solitary  night  thoughts  have  been 
easy  and  calm  when  they  have  dwelt  on  him.  -^^  -^  *  X  love 
Coleridge,  and  can  forget  all  that  has  happened. 

At  present,  I  could  not  Avell  go  to  Stowey.  I  could  scarcely 
excuse  so  sudden  a  removal  from  my  parents.  Lamb  quitted  me 
yesterday,  after  a  fortnight's  visit.  I  have  been  much  interested 
in  his  society.  I  never  knew  him  so  happy  in  my  life.  I  shall 
write  to  Coleridge  to-day. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend, 

C.  Lloyd,  Jun.'' 

Mr.  C.  up  to  this  day,  Feb.  18th,  1798,  held,  though  laxly,  the 
doctrines  of  Socinus.  On  the  Rev.  Mr.  Rowe,  of  Shrewsbury,  the 
Unitarian  minister,  coming  to  settle  in  Bristol,  Mr.  Coleridge  was 
strongly  recommended  by  his  friends  of  that  persuasion,  to  offer 
himself  as  Mr.  R.'s  successor;  and  he  accordingly  went  on  pro- 
bation to  Shrewsbury. 

It  is  proper  here  to  mention,  in  order  that  this  subject  may  be 
the  better  understood,  that  Mr.  Poole,  two  or  three  years  before, 
had  introduced  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Mr.  Thomas  Wedge  wood.  This 
gentleman  formed  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  C.'s  talents,  and  felt  an 
interest  in  his  welfare.  At  the  time  Mr.  Coleridge  was  hesitat- 
ing whether  or  not  he  should  persist  in  offering  himself  to  the 
Shrewsbury  congregation,  and  so  finally  settle  down  into  an  Uni- 
tarian minister,  Mr.  T.  Wedgewood  having  heard  of  the  circum- 
stance, and  fearing  that  a  pastoral  engagement  might  operate  un- 
favorably on  his  literary  pursuits,  interfered,  as  will  appear  by 
the  following  letter  of  Mr.  Coleridge  to  Mr.  Wade. 

*'  Stowey. 
My  very  dear  Friend,, 

This  last  fortnight  has  been  very  eventful.  I  received  one 
hundred  pounds  from  Josiah  Wedgewood,  in  order  to  prevent  the 
necessity  of  my  going  into  the  ministry.     I  have  received  an  invi- 

6'' 


130  REMINISCENCES   OF 


tation  from  Shrewsbury,  to  be  minister  there ;  and  after  fluctua- 
tions of  mind,  which  have  for  nights  together  robbed  me  of  sleep, 
and  I  am  afraid  of  health,  1  have  at  length  returned  the  order  to 
Mr.  Wedgewood,  with  a  long  letter,  explanatory  of  my  conduct, 
and  accepted  the  Shrewsbury  invitation."  '-^  * 

Mr.  T.  Wedgewood,  still  adhering  to  his  first  opinion  that  Mr. 
Coleridge's  acceptance  of  the  proposed  engagement,  would  seri- 
ously obstruct  his  literary  efforts,  sent  Mr.  C.  a  letter,  in  which 
himself  and  his  brother,  Mr.  Josiah  Wedgewood,  promised,  con- 
jointly, to  allow  him  for  his  life,  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year.  This  decided  Mr.  Coleridge  to  reject  the  Shrewsbury  invi- 
tation. He  was  oppressed  with  grateful  emotions  to  these  his 
liberal  benefactors,  and  always  spoke,  in  particular,  of  the  late  Mr. 
Thomas  Wedgewood  as  being  one  of  the  best  talkers,  and  as  pos- 
sessing one  of  the  acutest  minds,  of  any  man  he  had  known. 

The  following  is  Mr.  Coleridge's  hasty  reply  to  Mr.  Wedgewood. 

"  Shrewsbury,  Friday  night,  1798. 
My  dear  sir, 

I  have  this  moment  received  your  letter,  and  have  scarcely 
more  than  a  moment  to  answer  it  by  return  of  post.  If  kindly 
feeling  can  be  repaid  by  kindly  feeling,  I  am  not  your  debtor.  I 
would  wish  to  express  the  same  thing  which  is  big  at  my  heart, 
but  I  know  not  how  to  do  it  without  indelicacy.  As  much  ab- 
stracted from  personal  feeling  as  possible,  I  honor  and  esteem  you 
foi*  that  which  you  have  done. 

I  must  of  necessity  stay  here  till  the  close  of  Sunday  next.  On 
Monday  morning  I  shall  leave  it,  and  on  Tuesday  Avill  be  with 
you  at  Cote-House. 

Very  affectionately  yours, 
T.  Wedgewood,  Esq.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

While  the  affair  was  in  suspense,  a  report  was  current  in  Bristol, 
that  Mr.  Coleridge  had  rejected  the  Messrs.  Wedgewoods'  ofler, 
which  the  Unitarians  in  both  towns  ardently  desired.  Entertain- 
ing a  contrary  wish,  I  addressed  a  letter  to  Mr.  C.  stating  the 
report,  and  expressing  a  hope  that  it  had  no  foundation.  The  fol- 
lowing satisfactory  answer  was  immediately  returned. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.   SOUTHEY.  131 

"  My  very  dear  Cottle, 

The  moment  I  received  Mr.  T.  WedgeAvood's  letter,  I  accepted 

his  offer.  How  a  contrary  report  could  arise,  I  cannot  guess.  ■*  *  * 

I  hope  to  see  you  at  the  close  of  next  week.     I  have  been 

respectfully  and  kindly  treated  at  Shrewsbury.     I  am  well,  and 

now,  and  ever, 

Your  grateful  and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge.'^ 

In  the  year  1798,  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  determined 
upon  visiting  Germany.  A  knowledge  of  this  fact  will  elucidate 
some  of  the  succeeding  letters, 

'^Feb.  18,  1798. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  finished  my  Ballad,  it  is  340  lines ;  I  am  going  on  with 
my  '  Visions'  ;  altogether  (for  I  shall  print  two  scenes  of  my 
Tragedy,  as  fragments)  I  can  add  1500  lines;  now  what  do  you 
advise  ?  Shall  I  add  my  Tragedy,  and  so  make  a  second  volume  ? 
or  shall  I  pursue  my  first  intention  of  inserting  1500  in  the  third 
edition  ?  If  you  should  advise  a  second  volume,  should  you  Vish, 
i.  e.  find  it  convenient,  to  be  the  purchaser  ?  I  ask  this  question, 
because  I  wish  you  to  know  the  true  state  of  my  present  circum- 
stances. I  have  received  nothing  yet  from  the  Wedgewoods,  and 
my  money  is  utterly  expended. 

A  friend  of  mine  wanted  five  guineas  for  a  little  while,  which  I 
borrowed  of  Poole,  as  for  myself,  \  do  not  like  therefore  to  apply 
to  him.  Mr.  Estlin  has  some  little  money  I  believe  in  his  hands, 
but  I  received  from  him  before  I  went  to  Shrewsbury,  fifteen 
pounds,  and  I  believe  that  this  was  an  anticipation  of  the  five 
guinea  presents,  which  my  friends  would  have  made  in  March. 
But  (this  affair  of  the  Messrs.  Wedgewoods  turning  out)  the 
money  in  Mr.  Estlin's  hand  must  go  towards  repaying  him  that 
sum  which  he  suffered  me  to  anticipate.  Meantime  I  owe  Biggs 
£5,  which  is  heavy  on  my  thoughts,  and  Mrs.  F.  has  not  been 
paid  her  last  quarter  which  is  still  heavier.  As  to  myself,  I  can 
continue  to  go  on  here,  but  this  £10  I  must  pay  somehow,  that  is 
£5  to  Biggs,  and  £5  to  Mrs.  F.     *     *     * 

God  bless  you,  S.  T.  Coleridge." 


132  REMINISCENCES   OF 

P.  S.  This  week  I  purpose  offering  myself  to  the  Bridgewater 
Socinian  congregation,  as  assistant  minister,  without  any  salary, 
directly  or  indirectly  ;  but  of  this  say  not  a  word  to  any  one, 
unless  you  see  Mr.  Estlin." 

A  visit  to  Mr.  Coleridge  at  Stowey,  had  been  the  means  of  my 
introduction  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  who  read  me  many  of  his  Lyrical 
Pieces,  when  I  immediately  perceived  in  them  extraordinary  merit, 
and  advised  him  to  publish  them,  expressing  a  belief  that  they 
would  be  well  received.  I  further  said  he  should  be  at  no  risk ; 
that  I  would  give  him  the  same  sum  which  I  had  given  to  Mr. 
Coleridge  and  to  Mr.  Southey,  and  that  it  would  be  a  gratifying 
circumstance  to  me,  to  have  been  the  publisher  of  the  first 
volumes  of  three  such  poets,  as  Southey,  Coleridge,  and  Words- 
worth ;  such  a  distinction  might  never  again  occur  to  a  provincial 
bookseller. 

To  the  idea  of  publishing  he  expressed  a  strong  objection,  and 
after  several  interviews,  I  left  him,  with  an  earnest  wish  that  he 
would  reconsider  his  determination. 

Soon  after  Mr  Wordsworth  sent  me  the  following  letter. 

• 

'^  Allfoxden,   12th  April,  1Y98. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  ¥r  ¥r  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  have  gone  on 
very  rapidly  adding  to  my  stock  of  poetry.  Do  come  and  let  me 
read  it  to  you  under  the  old  trees  in  the  park.  We  have  a  little 
more  than  two  months  to  stay  in  this  place.  Within  these  four 
days  the  season  has  advanced  with  greater  rapidity  than  I  ever 
remember,  and  the  country  becomes  almost  every  hour  more 
lovely.     God  bless  you, 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

W.  Wordsworth." 

A  little  time  after,  I  received  an  invitation  from  Mr.  Coleridge 
to  pay  himself  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  another  visit.  At  about  the 
same  time,  I  received  the  following  corroborative  invitation  from 
Mr.  Wordsworth. 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

We  look  for  you  with  great  impatience.     We  will  never  forgive 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEV.  133 

you  if  you  do  not  come.  I  say  nothing  of  the  '  SaUsbury  Plain' 
till  I  see  you.  I  am  determined  to  finish  it,  and  equally  so  that 
you  shall  publish. 

I  have  lately  been  busy  about  another  plan,  which  I  do  not 
wish  to  mention  till  I  see  you ;  let  this  be  very,  very  soon,  and 
stay  a  week  if  possible  ;  as  much  longer  as  you  can.  God  bless 
you,  dear  Cottle, 

Yours  sincerely, 

W.  Wordsworth. 

Allfoxden,  9th  May,  1798." 

The  following  letter  also  on  this  subject,  was  received  from  Mr. 
Coleridge. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

Neither  Wordsworth  nor  myself  could  have  been  otherwise 
than  uncomfortable,  if  any  but  yourself  had  received  from  us  the 
first  offer  of  our  Tragedies,  and  of  the  volume  of  Wordsworth's 
Poems.  At  the  same  time,  we  did  not  expect  that  you  could, 
with  prudence  and  propriety,  advance  such  a  sum  as  we  should 
want  at  the  time  we  specified.  In  short,  we  both  regard  the 
publication  of  our  Tragedies  as  an  evil.  It  is  not  impossible  but 
that  in  happier  times,  they  may  be  brought  on  the  stage  :  and  to 
throw  away  this  chance  for  a  mere  trifle,  would  be  to  make  the 
present  moment  act  fraudulently  and  usuriously  towards  the 
future  time. 

My  Tragedy  employed  and  strained  all  my  thoughts  and  fac- 
ulties for  six  or  seven  months ;  Y>^ordsworth  consumed  far  more 
time,  and  far  more  thought,  and  far  more  genius.  We  consider 
the  publication  of  them  an  evil  on  any  terms  ;  but  our  thoughts 
were  bent  on  a  plan  for  the  accomplishment  of  which,  a  certain 
sum  of  money  was  necessary,  (the  whole,)  at  that  particular  time, 
and  in  order  to  this  we  resolved,  although  reluctantly,  to  part 
with  our  Tragedies  :  that  is,  if  we  could  obtain  thirty  guineas  for 
each,  and  at  less  than  thirty  guineas  Wordsworth  will  not  part 
with  the  copy-right  of  his  volume  of  Poems.  We  shall  oflfer  the 
Tragedies  to  no  one,  for  we  have  determined  to  procure  the  money 
some  other  way.     If  you  choose  the  volume  of  Poems,  at  the 


134  REMINISCENCES   OF 


price  mentioned,  to  be  paid  at  the  time  specified,  i.  e.  thirty- 
guineas,  to  be  paid  sometime  in  the  last  fortnight  of  July,  you 
may  have  them ;  but  remember,  my  dear  fellow  !  I  write  to  you 
now  merely  as  a  bookseller,  and  entreat  you,  in  your  answer,  to 
consider  yourself  ^  only ;  as  to  us,  although  money  is  necessary  to 
our  plan,  [that  of  visiting  Germany,]  yet  the  plan  is  not  necessary 
to  our  happiness ;  and  if  it  were,  W.  could  sell  his  Poems  for  that 
sum  to  some  one  else,  or  we  could  procure  the  money  without 
selling  the  Poems.  So  I  entreat  you,  again  and  again,  in  your 
answer,  which  must  be  immediate,  consider  yourself  only. 

Wordsworth  has  been  caballed  against  so  long  and  so  loudly , 
that  he  has  found  it  impossible  to  prevail  on  the  tenant  of  the 
Allfoxden  estate,  to  let  him  the  house,  after  their  first  agreement 
is  expired,  so  he  must  quit  it  at  Midsummer  ;  whether  we  shall  be 
able  to  procure  him  a  house  and  furniture  near  Stowey,  we  know 
not,  and  yet  we  must :  for  the  hills,  and  the  woods,  and  the 
streams,  and  the  sea,  and  the  shores,  w^ould  break  forth  into  re- 
proaches against  us,  if  we  did  not  strain  every  nerve,  to  keep 
their  poet  among  them.  Without  joking,  and  in  serious  sadness, 
Poole  and  I  cannot  endure  to  think  of  losing  him. 

At  all  events,  come  down,  Cottle,  as  soon  as  you  can,  but  be- 
fore Midsummer,  and  we  will  procure  a  horse  easy  as  thy  own 
soul,  and  we  will  go  on  a  roam  to  Linton  and  Limouth,  which,  if 
thou  comest  in  May,  will  be  in  all  their  pride  of  woods  and  water- 
falls, not  to  speak  of  its  august  cliffs,  and  the  green  ooean,  and 
the  vast  Yalley  of  Stones,  all  w^hich  live  disdainful  of  the  seasons, 
or  accept  new  honors  only  from  the  winter's  snow.  At  all  events 
come  doAvn,  and  cease  not  to  believe  me  much  and  afi*ectionately 
your  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

In  consequence  of  these  conjoint  invitations,  I  spent  a  week 
with  Mr.  C.  and  Mr.  W.  at  Allfoxden  house,  and  during  this  time 
(beside  the  reading  of  MS.  poems)  they  took  me  to  Limouth,  and 
Linton,  and  the  Valley  of  Stones.  This  beautiful  and  august 
scenery,  might  suggest  many  remarks,  as  well  as  on  our  incidents 
upon  the  way,  but  I  check  the  disposition  to  amplify,  from  recol- 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  135 


lecting  the  extent  to  which  an  unconstrained  indulgence  in  narra- 
tive had  formerly  led  me,  in  the  affair  of  Tintern  Abbey. 

At  this  interview  it  was  determined,  that  the  volume  should  be 
published  under  the  title  of  "  Lyrical  ballads,"  on  the  terms  stipu- 
lated in  a  former  letter :  that  this  volume  should  not  contain  the 
poem  of  "  Salisbmy  Plain,"  but  only  an  extract  from  it ;  that  it 
should  not  contain  the  poem  of  "Peter  Bell,"  but  consist  rather 
of  sundry  shorter  poems,  and,  for  the  most  part,  of  pieces  more 
recently  written.  I  had  recommended  two  volumes,  but  one  was 
fixed  on,  and  that  to  be  published  anonymously.  It  was  to  be 
begun  ^immediately,  and  with  the  "  Ancient  Mariner ;"  which 
poem  I  brought  with  me  to  Bristol.  A  day  or  two  after  I  re- 
ceived the  following. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

You  know  what  I  think  of  a  letter.  How  impossible  it  is  to 
argue  in  itf  You  must  therefore  take  simple  statements,  and  in 
a  week  or  two,  I  shall  see  you,  and  endeavor  to  reason  v,^ith  you. 

Wordsworth  and  I  have  duly  weighed  your  proposal,  and  this 
is  an  answer.  He  would  not  object  to  the  publishing  of  'Peter 
Bell,'  or  the  '  Salisbury  Plain'  singly ;  but  to  the  publishing  of 
his  poems  in  two  volumes,  he  is  decisively  repugnant  and  oppug- 
nant. 

He  deems  that  they  would  want  variety,  &c.,  (fee.  If  this  ap- 
ply in  his  case,  it  applies  with  tenfold  more  force  to  mine.  We 
deem  that  the  volumes  offered  to  you,  are,  to  a  certain  degree, 
one  work  in  kind,  though  not  in  degree,  as  an  ode  is  one  work  ; 
and  that  our  different  poems  are,  as  stanzas,  good,  relatively 
rather  than  absolutely  :  mark  you,  I  say  in  kind,  though  not  in 
degree.  As  to  the  Tragedy,  when  I  consider  it  in  reference  to 
Shakspeare's,  and  to  one  other  Tragedy,  it  seems  a  poor  thing, 
and  I  care  little  what  becomes  of  it.  When  I  consider  it  in  com- 
parison with  modern  dramatists,  it  rises :  and  I  think  it  too  bad 
to  be  published,  too  good  to  be  squandered.  I  think  of  breaking 
it  up  ;  the  planks  are  sound,  and  I  wiU  build  a  new  ship  of  the 
old  materials. 

The  dedication  to  the  Wedgewoods,  which  you  recommend, 
would  be  indelicate  and  unmeaning.     If,  after  four  or  five  years, 


136     '  REMINISCENCES  OF 


I  shall  have  finished  some  Avork  of  importance,  which  could  not 
have  been  written,  but  in  an  unanxious  seclusion,  to  them  I  will 
dedicate  it ;  for  the  public  Avill  have  owed  the  work  to  them  who 
gave  me  the  power  of  that  unanxious  seclusion. 

As  to  anonymous  publications,  depend  on  it,  you  are  deceived. 
Wordsworth's  name  is  nothing  to  a  large  number  of  persons; 
mine  stinks.  The  '  Essay  on  Man,'  the  *  Botanic  Garden,'  the 
'Pleasures  of  Memory,'  and  many  other  most  popular  works, 
were  published  anonymously.  However,  I  waive  all  reasoning, 
and  simply  state  it  as  an  unaltered  opinion,  that  you  should  pro- 
ceed as  before,  with  the  '  Ancient  Mariner.' 

The  picture  shall  be  sent.*  For  your  love  gifts  and  book-loans 
accept  our  hearty  love.  The  '  Joan  of  Arc'  is  a  divine  book  ;  it 
opens  lovelily.  I  hope  that  you  will  take  off  some  half  dozen  of 
our  Poems  on  great  paper,  even  as  the  '  Joan  of  x\rc.' 

Cottle,  my  dear  Cottle,  I  meant  to  have  written  you  an  Essay 
on  the  Metaphysics  of  Typography,  but  I  have  not  tfhie.  Take 
a  few  hints,  without  the  abstruse  reasons  for  them,  with  which  I 
mean  to  favor  you.  18  lines  in  a  page,  the  line  closely  printed, 
certainly  more  closely  printed  than  those  of  the  '  Joan  ;'f  ('  Oh,  by 
all  means,  closer,  W.  Wordsworth',)  equal  ink,  and  large  margins  , 
that  is  beauty ;  it  may  even,  under  your  immediate  care,  mingle  the 
sublime  !  And  now,  my  dear  Cottle,  may  God  love  you  and  me, 
who  am,  with  most  unauthorish  feelings. 

Your  true  friend,  S.  T.  Coleridofe. 

p.  S.  I  walked  to  Linton  the  day  after  you  left  us,  and  re- 
turned on  Saturday.     I  walked  in  one  day,  and  returned  in  one.'* 

A  reference  is  made  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  a  letter  (p.  Ill)  to 
the  "  caballing,  long  and  loud,"  against  Mr.  Wordsworth,  and 
which  occasioned  him  to  remove  from  Somersetshire.  To  leani 
the  nature  of  this  annoyance,  may  furnish  some  little  amusement 
to  the  reader,  while  Mr.  W.  himself  will  only  smile  at  trifling  in- 
cidents, that  are  now,  perhaps,  scarcely  remembered. 

*  A  portrait  of  Mr.  Wordsworth,  correctly  and  beautifully  executed,  by  an 
artist  then  at  Stowey;  now  in  my  possession. 

t  Joan  of  Arc,  4to.  first  edition,  had  twenty  lines  in  a  page. 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  137 


Mr.  W.  had  taken  the  Allfoxden  House,  near  Stowey,  for  one 
year  (during  the  minority  of  the  heir)  and  the  reason  why  he  was 
refused  a  continuance,  by  the  ignorant  man  who  had  the  letting 
of  it,  arose,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  informed  me,  from  a  whimsical 
cause,  or  rather  a  series  of  causes.  The  wiseacres  of  the  village 
had,  it  seemed,  made  Mr.  W.  the  subject  of  their  serious  conver- 
sation. One  said  that  ''  He  had  seen  him  wander  about  by  night, 
and  look  rather  strangely  at  the  moon  !  and  then,  he  roamed  over 
the  hills,  like  a  partridge."  Another  said,  "  He  had  heard  him 
mutter,  as  he  walked,  in  soi^ie  outlandish  brogue,  that  nobody 
could  understand  !"  Another  said,  *  It's  useless  to  talk,  Thomas, 
I  think  he  is  vrhat  people  call  a  ^  wise  man.'  "  (a  conjuror !)  An- 
other said,  "  You  are  every  one  of  you  wrong.  I  know  Avhat  he 
is.  We  have  all  met  him,  tramping  away  towards  the  sea. 
Would  any  man  in  his  senses,  take  all  that  trouble  to  look  at  a 
parcel  of  water  ?  I  think  he  carries  on  a  snug  business  in  the 
smuggling  line,  and,  in  these  journeys,  is  on  the  look-out  for  some 
wet  cargo  !"  Another  very  significantly  said,  "  I  know  that  he 
has  got  a  private  still  in  his  cellar,  for  I  once  passed  his  house, 
at  a  little  better  than  a  hundi'ed  3'ards  distance,  and  I  could  smell 
the  spirits,  as  plain  as  an  ashen  fagot  at  Christmas  !"  Another 
said,  "  However  that  was,  he  is  surety  a  desperd  French  jacobin, 
for  he  is  so  silent  and  dark,  that  nobody  ever  heard  him  say  one 
Avord  about  pohtics  !"  And  thus  these  ignoramuses  drove  from 
their  village,  a  greater  ornament  than  will  ever  again  be  found 
amongst  them. 

In  order  to  continue  the  smile  on  the  reader's  countenance,  I 
may  be  allowed  to  state  a  trifling  circumstance,  which  at  this 
moment  forces  itself  on  my  recollection. 

A  visit  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  at  Stowey,  in  the  year  1Y97,  had 
been  the  means  of  my  introduction  to  Mr.  Wordsworth.  Soon  after 
our  acquaintance  had  commenced,  Mr.  W.  happened  to  be  in 
Bristol,  and  asked  nae  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  him  at  Allfox- 
den. I  consented,  and  drove  him  down  in  a  gig.  We  called  for 
Mr.  Coleridge,  Miss  Wordsworth,  and  the  servant,  at  Stowey,  and 
they  walked,  while  v/e  rode  on  to  Mr.  W.'s  house  at  Allfoxden, 
distant  two  or  three  miles,  where  we  purposed  to  dine.  A  Lon- 
don alderman  would  smile  at  our  preparation,  or  bill  of  fare.     It 


138  REMINISCENCES  OF 


consisted  of  philosophers'  viands  ;  namely,  a  bottle  of  brandy,  a 
noble  loaf,  and  a  stout  piece  of  cheese ;  and  as  there  were  plenty 
of  lettuces  in  the  g-arden,  with  all  these  comforts  we  calculated 
on  doing  very  well. 

Our  fond  hopes,  however,  were  somewhat  damped,  by  finding, 
that  our  ''  slout  piece  of  cheese"  had  vanished  !  A  sturdy  rat  of  a 
beggar,  whom  we  had  relieved  on  the  road,  with  his  olfactories 
all  alive,  no  doubt,  smelt  our  cheese,  and  while  we  were  gazing 
at  the  magnificent  clouds%  contrived  to  abstract  our  treasure ! 
Cruel  tramp  !  An  ill  return  for  owr  pence !  We  both  wished 
the  rind  might  not  choke  him  !  The  mournful  fact  vras  ascer- 
tained a  little  before  we  drove  into  the  court-yard  of  the  bouse. 
Mr.  Coleridge  bore  the  loss  with  great  fortitude,  observing,  that 
Ave  should  never  starve  with  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy.  He  now,  with  the  dexterity  of  an  adept,  admired  by  his 
friends  around,  unbuckled  the  horse,  and,  putting  down  the  shafts 
with  a  jerk,  as  a  triumphant  conclusion  of  his  work,  lo  !  the  bottie 
of  brandy  that  had  been  placed  most  carefully  behind  us  on  tb^ 
seat,  from  the  force  of  gravity,  suddenly  rolled  down,  and  before 
we  could  arrest  tliis  spirituous  avalanche,  pitching  right  on  the 
stones,  was  dashed  to  pieces.  Yfe  all  beheld  the  spectacle,  silent 
and  petrified !  Y/e  might  have  collected  the  broken  fragments 
of  glass,  but  the  brandy  !  that  was  gone  !  clean  gone  !'*^ 

One  little  untoward  thing  often  foUovrs  another,  and  while  the 
rest  stood  musing,  chained  to  the  place,  regahng  themselves  with 
the  Cogniac  efHuvium,  and  all  miserably  chagrined,  I  led  the 
horse  to  the  stable,  when  a  fresh  perplexity  arose.  I  removed 
the  harness  without  dilHculty,  but  after  many  strenuous  attempts, 
I  could  not  get  off  the  collar.  In  despair,  I  called  for  assistance, 
when  aid  soon  drew  near.  Mr.  V/ordsworth  first  brought  his  in- 
genuity into  exercise,  but  after  several  unsuccessful  efforts,  he 
relinquished  the  achievement,  as  a  thing  altogether  impracticable. 
Mr.  Coleridge  now  tried  his  hand,  but  showed  no  more  grooming 
skill  than  his  predecessors  f  for  after  twisting  the  poor  horse's 
neck  almost  to  strangulation,  and  to  the  great  danger  of  his  eyes, 
he  gave  up  the  useless  task,  pronouncing  that  the  horse's  head 

*  Did  the  report  of  the  "  still,"  in  the  former  page,  originate  in  this  broken 
bottle  of  brandy  7 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.   SOUTHEV.  139 

must  have  grown,  (gout  or  dropsy  !)  since  the  collar  was  put  on ! 
for,  he  said,  it  was  a  downright  impossibility  for  such  a  huge  Os 
Frontis  to  pass  through  so  narrow  a  collar  !  Just  at  this  instant 
the  servant  girl  came  near,  and  understanding  the  cause  of  our 
consternation,  "La,  Master,"  said  she,  "you  do  not  go  about  the 
work  in  the  right  way.  You  should  do  like  as  this,"  when  turning 
the  collar  completely  upside  down,  she  slipped  it  off  in  a  moment, 
to  our  great  humiliation  and  wonderment ;  each  satisfied,  afresh, 
that  there  were  heights  of  knowledge  in  the  world,  to  which  we 
had  not  yet  attained. 

We  were  now  summoned  to  dinner,  and  a  dinner  it  vfas,  such 
as  ever}^  blind  and  starving  man  in  the  three  kingdoms  would  have 
rejoiced  to  hehold.  At  the  top  of  the  table  stood  a  superb  brown 
loaf.  The  centre  dish  presented  a  pile  of  the  true  coss  lettuces, 
and  at  the  bottom  appeared  an  empty  plate,  where  the  "  stout 
piece  of  cheese  !"  ought  to  have  stood,  (cruel  mendicant !)  and 
though  the  brandy  was  "  clean  gone,"  yet  its  place  w^as  v/ell,  if 
not  better  supplied  by  an  abundance  of  fine  sparkling  Castalian 
champagne  !  A  happy  thought  at  this  time  started  into  one  of 
our  minds,  that  some  condiment  would  render  the  lettuces  a  little 
more  palatable,  wlien  an  individual  in  the  company,  recollected  a 
question  once  propounded  by  the  most  patient  of  men,  "  How 
can  that  which  is  unsavory  be  eaten  without  saltT''  and  asked 
for  a  little  of  that  valuable  culinary  article.  "  Indeed,  sir,"  Betty 
replied,  "  I  quite  forgot  to  buy  salt."  A  general  laugh  followed 
the  announcement,  in  which  our  host  heartily  joined.  This  was 
nothing.  We  had  plenty  of  other  good  things,  and  v/hile  crunch- 
ing our  succulents,  and  munching  our  crusts,  we  pitied  the  far 
worse  condition  of  those,  perchance  as  hungry  as  ourselves,  who 
were  forced  to  dine  off  ether  alone.  For  our  next  meal,  the 
mile-off  village  furnished  all  that  could  be  desired,  and  these 
trifling  incidents  present  the  sum  and  the  result  of  half  the  little 
passing  disasters  of  life. 

The  "Lyrical  Ballads"  were  published  about  Midsummer,  1798. 
In  September  of  the  same  year,  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Words- 
worth left  England  for  Germany,  and  I  quitted  the  business  of  a 
bookseller.  Had  I  not  once  been  such,  this  book  would  never 
have  appeared. 


140  REMINISCENCES    OF 

The  narrative  of  Mr.  Coleridge  being  concluded  to  the  time 
when  he  left  Bristol,  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  to  visit  Germany,  I 
shall  now  for  the  present  leave  him  ;  and  direct  the  reader's  at- 
tention to  Mr.  Southey,  by  introducing  a  portion  of  his.  long-con- 
tinued correspondence  w^ith  myself ;  but  it  may  not  be  inappro- 
priate to  offer  a  few  preliminary  remarks  : — 

The  following  letters  will  exhibit  the  genuine  character  of  Mr. 
Southey  tlirough  the  whole  of  his  literary  life.  In  the  earlier 
periods,  a  playful  hilarity  will  be  found  ;  but  this  buoyancy  of 
spirit,  when  prevailing  to  excess,  (in  the  constitutionally  cheerful, 
such  as  was  Mr.  S.,)  is  generally  modified,  if  not  subdued,  by  the 
sobering  occurrences  of  after  life.  Letters,  like  the  present,  pos- 
sess some  peculiar  advantages.  Whenever,  as  in  this  instance, 
epistles  are  written  through  a  series  of  years,  to  one  person,  the 
writer's  mind  is  presented,  under  different  aspects,  while  the  iden- 
tity is  preserved.  This  benefit  is  greatly  diminished,  when,  in  a 
promiscuous  correspondence,  letters  are  addressed  to  a  diversity 
of  persons ;  often  of  different  habits,  and  pursuits,  where  the 
writer  must  be  compelled,  occasionally,  to  moderate  his  expres- 
sions ;  to  submit  in  some  measure  to  mental  restraint,  by  the  ne- 
cessity he  is  under  to  curb  the  flow  of  his  spontaneous  feeling. 
Besides  this  freedom  from  comparative  bondage,  one  other  advan- 
tage is  derived  from  these  continuous  and  unconstrained  letters 
to  a  single  friend.  A  writer,  in  all  his  letters,  from  addressing 
one,  for  the  most  part,  of  congenial  sympathies,  expresses  himself 
with  less  reserve  ;  with  more  of  the  interior  poured  out ;  and 
consequently  he  maintains  a  freedom  from  that  formality  of  essay- 
like sentences,  which  often  resemble  beautiful  statues,  fair,  but 
cold  and  wanting  life. 

When,  during  the  Revolutionary  vrar,  disgusted  with  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  French,  Mr.  Southey  saw  it  right,  from  a  Foxite,  to 
become  a  Pittite,  some  w^ho  did  not  know  him,  ascribed  his 
change  of  sentiment  to  unworthy  motives  ;  of  this  number  was 
my  esteemed  friend  the  late  Rev.  John  Foster,  who  whilst  freely 
admitting  Mr.  Southey 's  great  attainments  and  distinguished 
genius,  regarded  his  mind  as  injuriously  biased.  He  thought  him 
a  betrayer  of  his  political  friends.  No  countervailing  effect  was 
produced  by  affirming  his   uprightness,  and  the  temperance  with 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  141 

which  he  still  spake  of  those  from  whom  he  was  compelled  to 
differ.  He  was  told  that  Mr.  Southey  was  no  blind  political  par- 
tisan, but  an  honest  vindicator  of  what,  in  his  conscience,  he  be- 
lieved to  be  right — that  no  earthly  consideration  could  have 
tempted  him  to  swerve  from  the  plain  paths  of  truth  and  justice. 
An  appeal  was  made  to  his  writings,  which  manifested  great 
moderation :  and  as  it  respected  the  Church,  the  London,  and 
the  Baptist  Missionary  Societies,  it  might  be  said,  that  he  cour- 
ageously stood  forth  to  vindicate  them  in  the  Quarterly,  at  a  criti- 
cal time,  when  those  Societies  had  been  assailed  by  Sydney  Smith, 
in  the  Edinburgh  Review.  All  proved  unavailing.  At  length  I 
submitted  to  Mr.  Foster's  inspection,  Mr.  Southey's  correspond- 
ence for  more  than  forty  years,  where,  in  the  disclosure  of  the 
heart's  deepest  recesses,  the  undisguised  character  distinctly  ap- 
pears. He  read,  he  admired,  he  recanted.  In  a  letter  to  myself 
on  returning  the  MS.  he  thus  wrote  :  "  The  letters  exhibit  Southey 
as  a  man  of  sterling  worth, — of  sound  principles  ; — faithfulness 
to  old  friendship,  generosity,  and,  I  trust  I  may  say,  genuine 
rehgion."  And  Mr.  F.  ever  after  expressed  the  same  senti- 
ments to  his  friends.  It  is  confidently  hoped  that  similar  in- 
stances of  unfavorable  prepossession,  may  be  corrected  by  the 
same  means. 

In  his  "Friend"  Mr.  Coleridge  thus  refers  to  his  early  schemes 
of  Pantisocracy. 

"  Truth  I  pursued,  as  fancy  led  the  way, 
And  wiser  men  than  I  went  worse  astray." 

''  From  my  earhest  manhood  I  perceived  that  if  the  people  at  large  were 
neither  ignorant  nor  immoral,  there  could  be  no  motive  for  a  sudden  and 
violent  change  of  Government ;  and  if  they  were,  there  could  be  no  hope  but 
a  change  for  the  worse.  My  feehngs  and  imagination  did  not  remain  un- 
kindled  in  this  general  conflagration  (the  French  Revolution)  and  I  confess  I 
should  be  more  inclined  to  be  ashamed  than  proud  of  myself  if  they  had.  I 
was  a  sharer  in  the  general  vortex,  though  my  little  world  described  the  path 
of  its  revolution  in  an  orbit  of  its  own.  What  I  dared  not  expect  from  con- 
stitutions of  Government  and  whole  nations,  I  hoped  from  religion,  and  a 
small  company  of  chosen  individuals,  formed  a  plan,  as  harmless  as  it  was 
extravagant,  of  trying  the  experiment  of  human  perfectibility  on  the  banks 
of  the  Susquehannah  ;  where  our  httle  society,  in  its  second  generation,  was 
to  have  combined  the  innocence  of  the  patriarchal  age  with  the  knowledge 
and  genuine  refinements  of  European  culture ;  and  where  I  dreamt  that  in 


142  REMINISCENCES   OF 


the  sober  evening  of  my  life,  I  should  behold  the  cottages  of  Independence  in 
the  undivided  dale  of  liberty, 

'  And  oft,  soothed  sadly  by  the  dirgeful  wind, 
Muse  on  the  sore  ills  I  had  left  behind.' 

Strange  fancies  !  and  as  vain  as  strange  !  Yet  to  the  intense  interest  and 
impassioned  zeal,  which  called  forth  and  strained  every  faculty  of  my  intellect 
for  the  organization  and  defence  of  this  scheme,  I  owe  much  of  whatever  I 
at  present  possess, — my  clearest  insight  into  the  nature  of  individual  man, 
and  my  most  comprehensive  views  of  his  social  relations,  of  the  true  uses  of 
trade  and  commerce,  and  how  far  the  v/ealth  and  relative  power  of  nations 
promote  or  impede  their  inherent  strength." 

The  following  is  Mr.  Coleridge's  estimate  of  Mr.  Southey. 

"  Soulhey  stands  second  to  no  man,  either  as  an  historian  or  as  a  biblio- 
grapher ;  and  when  I  regard  him  as  a  popular  essayist,  I  look  in  vain  for  any 
writer  who  has  conveyed  so  much  information,  from  so  many  and  such  re- 
condite sources,  with  so  many  just  and  original  relltctions,  in  a  style  so  lively 
and  poignant,  yet  so  uniformly  classical  and  perspicuous ;  no  one,  in  short, 
who  has  combined  so  much  wisdom  with  so  much  wit ;  so  much  truth  and 
knowledge  with  so  much  life  and  fancy.  His  prose  is  always  intelligible,  and 
always  entertaining.  It  is  Southey's  almost  unexampled  felicity,  to  possess 
the  best  gifts  of  talent  and  genius,  free  from  all  their  characteristic  defects.  As 
son,  brother,  husband,  father,  master,  friend,  he  moves  with  firm  yet  light 
steps,  alike  unostentatious,  and  alike  exemplary.  As  a  writer  he  has  uni- 
formly made  his  talents  subservient  to  the  best  interests  of  humanity,  of  public 
virtue,  and  domestic  piety  ;  his  cause  has  ever  been  the  cause  of  pure  religion 
and  of  liberty,  of  national  independence,  and  of  national  illumination." — 
Bio.  Lit. 

The  reader  has  several  times  heard  of  Pantisocracy  ;  a  scheme 
perfectly  harmless  in  itself,  though  obnoxious  to  insuperable  ob- 
jections. The  ingenious  devisers  of  this  state  of  society,  grad- 
ually withdrew  from  it  their  confidence  ;  not  in  the  first  instance 
without  a  struggle ;  but  cool  reflection  presented  so  many  obsta- 
cles, that  the  plan,  of  itself,  as  the  understanding  expanded,  grad- 
.ually  dissolved  into  "thin  air."  A  friend  had  suggested  the 
expediency  of  first  trying  the  plan  in  Wales,  but  even  this  less  ex- 
ceptionable theatre  of  experiment  was  soon  abandoned,  and  sound 
sense  obtained  its  rightful  empire. 

It  was  mentioned  in  a  former  part,  that  Mr.  Southey  was  the 
first  to  abandon  the  scheme  of  American  colonization  ;  and  that, 
in  confirmation,  towards  the  conclusion  of  1795,  he  accompanied 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  143 

his  uncle,  tlie  Rev.  Herbert  Hill,  Chaplain  to  the  English  factory 
at  Lisbon,  through  some  parts  of  Spain  and  Portugal ;  of  which 
occurrence,  Mr.  S.'s  entertaining  '^  Letters"  from  those  countries 
are  the  result ;  bearing  testimony  to  his  rapid  accumulation  of 
facts,  and  the  accuracy  of  his  observations  on  persons  and  things. 
The  very  morning  on  which  Mr.  Southey  was  married  to  Miss 
Edith  Fricker,"^  he  left  his  wife  in  the  family  of  kind  friends,  and 
set  off  with  his  uncle,  to  pass  through  Spain  to  Lisbon.  But 
this  procedure  marks  the  delicacy  and  the  noble  character  of  his 
mind  ;  as  v/ill  appear  from  the  following  letter,  received  from  him, 
just  before  he  embarked. 

^^  Falmouth,  1795. 
My  dear  Friend, 

I  have  learnt  from  Lovell  the  news  from  Bristol,  public  and 
private,  and  both  of  an  interesting  nature.  My  marriage  is  be- 
come public.  You  know  that  its  publicity  can  give  me  no  con- 
cern. I  have  done  my  duty.  Perhaps  you  may  think  my  mo- 
tives for  marrying  (at  that  time)  not  sufficiently  strong.  One, 
and  that  to  me  of  great  weight,  I  believe  was  not  mentioned  to 
you.  There  might  have  arisen  feelings  of  an  unpleasant  nature, 
at  the  idea  of  receiving  support  from  one  not  legally  a  husband  ; 
and  (do  not  show  this  to  Edith)  should  I  perish  by  shipwreck,  or 
any  other  casualty,  I  have  relations  whose  prejudices  would  then 
yield  to  the  anguish  of  affection,  and  who  would  then  love  and 
cherish,  and  yield  all  possible  consolation  to  my  widow.  Of 
such  an  evil  there  is  but  a  possibility,  but  against  possibility  it 
was  my  duty  to  guard. f     FarevvelL 

Yours  sincerely, 
Robert  Southey.'' 

*  "  Robert  Southey  and  Edith  Fricker  were  married,  in  St.  Mary  Redcliffe 
Church,  in  the  city  of  Bristol,  the  14th  day  of  November,  1795,  as  appears  by 
the  Register  of  the  parish.  George  Campbell,  Curate. 

Witnesses — .Joseph  Cottle, 
Sarah  Cottle." 

t  At  the  instant  Mr.  Southey  was  about  to  set  off  on  his  travels,  T  observed 
he  had  no  stick,  and  lent  him  a  stout  holly  of  my  own.  In  the  next  year,  on 
bis  return  to  Bristol,  ''  Here,"  said  Mr.  S.,  "  Here  is  the  holly  you  were  kind 
enough  to  lend  me !" — I  have  since  then  looked  with  additional  respect  on  my 


144  REMINISCENCES   OF 

Mr.  Southey  having  sent  me  two  letters  from  the  Peninsula, 
they  are  here  presented  to  the  reader. 

'^  Corunna,  Dec.  loth,  1795. 

Indeed,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  strange  that  you  are  reading  a 
letter  from  me  now,  and  not  an  account  of  our  shipwreck.  We 
left  Falmouth  on  Tuesday  mid-day  ;  the  wind  was  fair  till  the  next 
night,  so  fair  tliat  we  were  within  twelve  hours'  sail  of  Corunna; 
it  then  turned  round,  blew  a  tempest,  and  continued  so  till  the 
middle  of  Saturday.  Our  dead  lights  were  up  fifty  hours,  and  I 
was  in  momentary  expectation  of  death.  You  know  what  a  situ- 
ation this  is.  I  forgot  my  sickness,  and  though  I  thought  much 
of  the  next  world,  thought  more  of  those  at  Bristol,  who  would 
daily  expect  letters  ;  daily  be  disappointed,  and  at  last  learn  from 
the  newspapers,  that  the  Lauzarotte  had  never  been  heard  of. 

Of  all  things  it  is  most  difficult  to  understand  the  optimism  of 
this  difference  of  language  ;  the  very  beasts  of  the  country  do  not 
understand  English.  Say  ^'  poor  fellow"  to  a  dog,  and  he  will 
probably  bite  you  ;  the  cat  will  come  if  you  call  her  '^  Meeth-tha," 
but  ''  puss"  is  an  outlandish  phrase  she  has  not  been  accustomed 
to  ;  last  night  I  went  to  supper  to  the  fleas,  and  an  excellent  sup- 
per they  made ;  and  the  cats  serenaded  me  with  their  execrable 
Spanish:  to  lie  all  night  in  Boivling- Green- Lane, ^  would  be  to 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  soft  and  smooth  lying. 

At  sight  of  land  a  general  shaving  took  place  ;  no  subject  could 
be  better  for  Bunbury  than  a  Packet  cabin  taken  at  such  a  mo- 
ment. For  me,  I  am  as  yet  whiskered,  for  I  would  not  venture 
to  shave  on  board,  and  have  had  no  razor  on  shore  till  this  even^ 
ing.  Custom-house  officers  are  more  troublesome  here  than  in 
England  ;  I  have,  however,  got  everything  at  last ;  you  may  form 

old  igneous  traveller,  and  remitted  a  portion  of  his  accustomed  labor.  It  was 
a  source  of  some  amusement,  when,  in  November  of  1836,  Mr.  Southey,  in  his 
journey  (o  the  West,  to  my  great  gratification,  spent  a  few  days  with  me,  and 
in  talking  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  I  showed  him  his  companion,  the  Old  Holly ! 
Though  liomcwhat  bent  with  age,  the  servant  (after  an  interval  of  forty  years) 
was  immediately  recognized  by  his  master,  and  with  an  additional  interest,  as 
this  stick,  he  thought,  on  one  occasion,  had  been  the  meanfe  of  saving  his 
pui-se,  if  not  his  life,  from  the  sight  of  so  efficient  an  instrument  of  defence 
having  intimidated  a  Spanish  robber. 
♦  See  page  24. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  145 

some  idea  of  the  weather  we  endured  ;  thirty  fowls  over  our  head 
were  drowned ;  the  ducks  got  loose,  and  ran  with  a  party  of  half- 
naked  Dutchmen  into  our  cabin ;  'twas  a  precious  place,  eight 
men  lying  on  a  shelf  much  like  a  coffin.  Mr.  Wahrendoff,  a  Swede, 
was  the  whole  time  with  the  bason  close  under  his  nose. 

The  bookseller's  shop  was  a  great  comfort ;  the  Consul  here 
has  paid  me  particular  attentions,  and  I  am  to  pass  to-morrow 
morning  with  him,  when  he  will  give  me  some  directions  concern- 
ing Spanish  literature.  He  knows  the  chief  literary  men  in  Eng- 
land, and  did  know  Brissot  and  Petion.  Of  the  dramatic  poet 
whom  Coates's  friend  Zimbernatt  mentioned  as  rivalling  Shakspeare, 
I  hear  nothing  ;  that  young  Spaniard  seems  to  exaggerate  or  rather 
to  represent  things  like  a  warm-hearted  young  man,  who  believes 
what  he  wishes.  The  father-in-law  of  Tallien  is  a  banker,  w^hat 
you  call  a  clever  fellow  ;  another  word,  says  the  most  sensible  man 
here,  for  a  cheat ;  the  court  and  the  clergy  mutually  support  each 
other,  and  their  combined  despotism  is  indeed  dreadful,  yet  much 
is  doing  ;  Jardine  is  very  active  ;  he  has  forwarded  the  establish- 
ment of  schools  in  the  Asturias  vv'ith  his  Spanish  fiiends.  Good 
night,  they  are  going  to  supper.     Oh,  their  foul  oils  and  wines  ! 

Tuesday  morning.  I  have  heard  of  hearts  as  hard  as  rocks, 
and  stones,  and  adamants,  but  if  ever  I  write  upon  a  hard  heart, 
my  simile  shall  be,  as  inflexible  as  a  bed  in  a  Spanish  Posada ;  we 
had  beef-steaks  for  supper  last  night,  and  a  sad  libel  upon  beef- 
steaks they  were.  I  wish  you  could  see  our  room  ;  a  bed  in  an 
open  recess,  one  just  moved  from  the  other  corner.  Raynsford 
packing  his  trunk;  Maber  shaving  himself;  tables  and  chairs; 
looking-glass  hung  too  high  even  for  a  Patagonian,  the  four  evan- 
gelists, &c.,  &c.,  the  floor  beyond  all  filth,  most  filthy. 

I  have  been  detained  two  hours  since  I  began  to  write,  at  the 
custom-house.  Mr.  Cottle,  if  there  be  a  custom-house  to  pass 
through,  to  the  infernal  regions,  all  beyond  must  be,  compara- 
tively, tolerable.         *         ^         * 

Adieu, 

Robert  Southey.'* 

"Lisbon,  February  1st,  1Y96. 
*  Certainly,  I  shall  hear  from  Mr.  Cottle,  by  the  first  packet/ 

1 


146  REMINISCENCES   OF 


said  I.  Now  I  say,  *  probably  I  may  hear  by  the  next/  so  does 
experience  abate  the  sanguine  expectations  of  man.  What,  could  ' 
you  not  ATOte  one  letter  ?  and  here  am  I  writing  not  only  to  all 
my  friends  in  Bristol,  but  to  all  in  England.  Indeed,  I  should 
have  been  veied,  but  that  the  packet  brought  a  letter  from  Edith, 
and  the  pleasure  that  gave  me,  allowed  no  feeling  of  vexation. 
What  of  'Joan?'  Mr.  Coates  tells  me  it  gains  upon  the  public, 
but  authors  seldom  hear  the  plain  trutli.  I  am  anxious  that  it 
should  reach  a  second  edition,  that  I  may  write  a  new  preface, 
and  enlarge  the  last  book.  I  shall  omit  all  in  the  second  book 
which  Colerido-e  v/rote. 

o 

Bristol  deserves  panegyric  instead  of  satire.  I  know  of  no  mer- 
cantile place  so  literary.  Kere  I  am  among  the  Philistines,  spend- 
ing my  m.ornings  so  pleasantly,  as  books,  only  books  can  make 
them,  and  sitting  at  evening  the  silent  spectator  of  card -playing 
and  dancing.  The  English  here  unite  the. spirit  of  commerce  with 
the  frivolous  amusements  of  high  life.  One  of  them,  who  plays 
every  night  (Sundays  are  not  excepted  here)  will  tell  you  how 
closely  he  attends  to  profit.  '  I  never  pay  a  porter  for  bringing 
a  burthen  till  the  next  da}^'  says  he,  '  for  while  the  fellow  feels 
his  back  ache  with  the  weio-ht,  he  charg^es  hio-h :  but  when  he  I 
comes  the  next  day  the  feeling  is  gone,  and  he  asks  only  half  the 
money.'  And  the  author  of  this  philosophical  scheme  is  worth 
£200,000!  ' 

This  is  a  comfortless  place,  and  the  only  pleasure  I  find  in  it, 
is  in  looking  on  to  my  departure.  Three  years  ago  I  might  have 
found  a  friend.  Count  Leopold  Berchtold.  This  man  (foster  bro- 
ther of  the  Emperor  Joseph)  is  one  of  those  rare  characters,  who 
spend  their  lives  in  doing  good.  It  is  liis  custom  in  every  country 
he  visits,  to  publish  books  in  its  language,  on  some  subject  of  prac- 
tical utility ;  these  he  gave  away.  I  have  now  lying  before  me 
the  two  which  he  printed  in  Lisbon ;  the  one  is  an  Essay  on  the 
means  of  preserving  life,  in  the  various  dangers  to  which  men  are 
daily  exposed.  The  other  an  Essay  on  extending  the  limits  of  benev- 
olence, not  only  towards  men,  but  towards  animals.  His  age  was 
about  twenty-five ;  his  person  and  his  manners  the  most  polished. 
My  uncle  saw  more  of  him  than  any  one,  for  he  used  his  library ; 
and  this  was  the  only  house  he  called  at ;  he  was  only  seen  at 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  147 

dinner,  the  rest  of  the  day  was  constantly  given  to  study.  They 
who  Kved  in  the  same  house  with  him,  beUeved  him  to  be  the 
wandering  Jew.  He  spoke  all  the  European  languages,  had  writ- 
ten in  all,  and  was  master  of  the  Arabic.  From  thence  he  went 
to  Cadiz,  and  thence  to  Barbary ;  no  more  is  known  of  him. 

We  felt  a  smart  earthquake  the  morning  after  our  arrival  here. 
These  shocks  alarm  the  Portuguese  dreadfully  ;  and  indeed  it  is  the 
most  terrifying  sensation  you  can  conceive.  One  man  jumped 
out  of  bed  and  ran  down  to  the  stable,  to  ride  off  almost  naked 
as  he  was.  Another,  more  considerately  put  out  his  candle,  *  be- 
cause I  know,'  said  he,  'the  fire  does  more  harm  than  the  earth- 
quake.' The  ruins  of  the  great  earthquake  are  not  yet  removed 
entirely. 

The  city  is  a  curious  place ;  a  straggling  plan  ;  built  on  the 
most  uneven  ground,  with  heaps  of  ruins  in  the  middle,  and  large 
open  places.  The  streets  filthy  beyond  all  English  ideas  of  filth, 
for  they  throw  everything  into  the  streets,  and  nothing  is  removed. 
Dead  animals  annoy  you  at  every  corner  ;  and  such  is  the  indo- 
lence and  nastiness  of  the  Portuguese,  that  I  verily  believe  they 
would  let  each  other  rot  in  the  same  manner,  if  the  priests  did 
notn|et  something  by  burying  them.  Some  of  the  friars  are  vowed 
to  wear  their  clothes  without  changing  for  a  year ;  and  this  is 
a  comfort  to  them :  you  will  not  wonder,  therefore,  that  I  always 
keep  to  the  windward  of  these  reverend  perfumers. 

The  streets  are  very  disagreeable  in  wet  weather.  If  you  walk 
under  the  houses  you  are  drenched  by  the  water-spouts  ;  if  you 
attempt  the  middle,  there  is  a  river  ;  if  you  would  go  between 
both,  there  is  the  dunghill.  The  rains  here  are  very  violent,  and 
the  streams  in  the  streets,  on  a  declivity,  so  rapid  as  to  throw 
down  men,  and  sometimes  to  overset  carriages.  A  woman  was 
drowned  some  years  ago  in  one  of  the  most  frequented  streets 
of  Lisbon.  But  to  walk  home  at  night  is  the  most  dangerous 
adventure,  for  then  the  chambermaids  shower  out  the  filth  into 
the  streets  with  such  profusion,  that  a  Scotchman  might  fancy 
himself  at  Edinburgh.  You  cannot  conceive  what  a  cold  per- 
spiration it  puts  me  in,  to  hear  one  dashed  down  just  before  me ; 
as  Thomson  says,  with  a  little  alteration : 


148  REMINISCENCES   OF 

"  Hear  nightly  dashed,  amid  the  perilous  street, 
The  fragrant  stink  pot." 

This  furnishes  food  for  innumerable  dogs,  that  belong  to  nobody, 
and  annoy  everybody.  If  they  did  not  devour  it,  the  quantities 
would  breed  a  pestilence.  In  a  moonlight  night,  we  see  dogs  and 
rats  feeding  at  the  same  dunghill. 

Lisbon  is  plagued  with  a  very  small  species  of  red  ant,  tliat 
swarm  over  everything  in  the  house.  Their  remedy  for  this  is, 
to  send  for  the  priest,  and  exorcise  them.  The  drain  from  the 
new  convent  opens  into  the  middle  of  the  street.  An  Enghsh 
pigsty  is  cleaner  than  the  metropolis  of  Portugal. 

To-night  I  shall  see  the  procession  of  *  Our  Lord  of  the  Pas- 
sion.' This  image  is  a  very  celebrated  one,  and  with  great  rea- 
son, for  one  night  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  St.  Roque's  church, 
and  there  they  would  not  admit  him.  After  this  he  walked  to 
the  other  end  of  the  town,  to  the  church  of  St.  Grace,  and  there 
they  took  him  in  ;  but  a  dispute  now  arose  between  the  two 
churches,  to  which  the  image  belonged ;  whether  to  the  church 
which  he  first  chose,  or  the  church  that  first  chose  him.  The 
matter  was  compromised.  One  church  has  him,  and  the  other 
fetches  him  for  their  processions,  and  he  sleeps  with  the  l|/:ter 
the  night  preceding.  The  better  mode  for  deciding  it,  had  been 
to  place  the  gentleman  between  both,  and  let  him  walk  to  which 
he  liked  best.  What  think  you  of  this  story  being  believed  in 
1796!!! 

The  power  of  the  Inquisition  stiU  exists,  though  they  never  ex- 
ercise it,  and  thus  the  Jews  save  their  bacon.  Fifty  years  ago  it 
was  the  greatest  delight  of  the  Portuguese  to  see  a  Jew  burnt. 
Geddes,  the  then  chaplain,  was  present  at  one  of  these  detestable 
Auto  da  Fe's.  He  says,  '  the  transports  expressed  by  all  ages, 
and  all  sexes,  whilst  the  miserable  sufferers  were  shrieking  and  beg- 
ging mercy  for  God's  sake,  formed  a  scene  more  horrible  than  any 
out  of  hell !'  He  adds,  that  '  this  barbarity  is  not  their  national 
character,  for  no  people  sympathize  so  much  at  the  execution  of 
a  criminal ;  but  it  is  the  damnable  nature  of  their  religion,  and 
the  most  diabolical  spirit  of  their  priests  ;  their  celibacy  deprives 
them  of  the  affections  of  men,  and  their  creed  gives-  them  the  fe- 
rocity of  devils.'     Geddes  saw  one  man  gagged,  because,  immedi- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  149 

ately  he  came  out  of  the  Inquisition  gates,  he  looked  up  at  the 
sun,  whose  light  for  many  years  had  never  visited  him,  and  ex- 
claimed, '  How  is  it  possible  for  men  who  behold  that  glorious  orb, 
to  worship  any  being  but  Him  who  created  it! '  My  blood  runs 
cold  when  I  pass  that  accursed  building ;  and  though  they  do 
not  exercise  their  power,  it  is  a  reproach  to  human  nature  that 
the  building  should  exist. 

It  is  as  warm  here  as  in  May  with  you ;  of  course  we  broil  in 
that  month  at  Lisbon ;  but  I  shall  escape  the  hot  weather  here, 
as  I  did  the  cold  w^eather  of  England,  and  quit  this  place  the  lat- 
ter end  of  April.  You  will  of  course  see  me  the  third  day  after 
my  landing  at  Falmouth,  or,  if  I  can  get  companions  in  a  post- 
chaise,  sooner.  This  my  resolution  is  hke  the  law  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  that  altereth  not.  Be  so  good  as  to  procure  for  me 
a  set  of  Coleridge's  'Watchman,'  w^ith  his  Lectures  and  Poems. 
I  want  to  write  a  tragedy  here,  but  can  find  no  leisure  to  begin  it. 

Portugal  is  much  plagued  w4th  robbers,  and  they  generally 
strip  a  man  and  leave  him  to  walk  home  in  his  birth-day  suit. 
An  Englishman  was  served  thus  at  Almeyda,  and  the  Lisbon  mag- 
istrates, on  his  complaint,  took  up  the  w^hole  village  and  impris- 
oned them  all.  Contemplate  this  people  in  what  light  you  will, 
you  can  never  see  them  in  a  good  one.  They  suffered  their  best 
epic  poet  to  perish  for  want :  and  they  burned  to  death  their  best 
dramatic  writer,  because  he  was  a  Jew. 

Pombal,  whose  heart  was  bad,  though  he  made  a  good  minister, 
reduced  the  cKurch  during  his  administraiion.  He  suffered  no 
persons  to  enter  the  convents,  and,  as  the  old  monks  and  nuns 
died,  threw  two  convents  into  one,  and  sold  the  other  estates. 
By  this  means  he  would  have  annihilated  the  w^hole  generation  of 
vermin ;  but  the  king  died,  and  the  queen,  whose  religion  has 
driven  her  mad,  undid,  through  the  influence  of  the  priests,  all 
that  Pombal  had  done.  He  escaped  w^ith  his  life,  but  lived  to 
see  his  bust  destroyed,  and  all  his  plans  for  the  improvement  of 
Portugal  reversed.  He  had  the  interest  of  his  country  at  heart, 
and  the  punishment,  added  to  the  regret  of  having  committed  so 
many  crimes  to  secure  his  power,  must  almost  have  been  enough 
for  this  execrable  marquis. 

The  climate  here  is  dehghtful,  and  the  air  so  clear,  that  when 


150  REMINISCENCES   OP 

the  moon  is  young,  I  can  often  distinguish  the  whole  circle,  thus: 
O.  You  and  Robert  may  look  for  this  some  fine  night,  but  I  do 
not  remember  ever  to  have  observed  it  in  England.  The  stars  ap- 
pear more  brilliant  here,  but  I  often  look  up  at  the  Pleiades,  and 
remember  how  much  happier  I  was  when  I  saw  them  in  Bristol. 
Fare  you  well.     Let  me  know  that  my  friends  remember  me.  *  * 

Robert  Southey.'* 

After  the  complete  reconciliation  had  taken  place  with  Mr. 
Coleridge,  Mr.  Southey  in  the  autumn  of  1796,  settled  in  London, 
and  purposed  to  study  the  law.  From  London  he  sent  me  the 
following  letter. 

^'London,  Nov.,  1796. 
My  dear  Friend, 

I  am  now  entering  on  a  new  way  of  life  which  will  lead  me  to 
independence.  You  know  that  I  neither  lightly  undertake  any 
scheme,  nor  lightly  abandon  what  I  have  undertaken.  I  am 
happy  because  I  have  no  want,  and  because  the  independence  I 
labor  to  attain,  and  of  attaining  which,  my  expectations  can 
hardly  be  disappointed,  will  leave  me  nothing  to  wish.  I  am  in- 
debted to  you,  Cottle,  for  the  comforts  of  my  later  time.  In  my 
present  situation  I  feel  a  pleasure  in  saying  thus  much. 

Thank  God  !  Edith  comes  on  Monday  next.  I  say  Thank  God, 
for  I  have  never  since  my  return  from  Portugal,  been  absent  from 
her  so  long  before,  and  sincerely  hope  and  intend  never  to  be  so 
again.  On  Tuesday  we  shall  be  settled,  and  on  Wednesday  my 
legal  studies  begin  in  the  morning,  and  I  shall  begin  with  '  Madoc' 
in  the  evening.  Of  this  it  is  needless  to  caution  you  to  say  noth- 
ing, as  I  must  have  the  character  of  a  lawyer ;  and  though  I  can 
and  will  unite  the  two  pursuits,  no  one  would  credit  the  possi- 
bihty  of  the  union.  In  two  years  the  Poem  shall  be  finished, 
and  the  many  years  it  must  lie  by  will  aiford  ample  time  for  cor- 
rection. 

I  have  declined  being  a  member  of  a  Literary  Club,  which 
meet  at  the  Chapter  Coffee  House,  and  of  which  I  had  been 
elected  a  member.  Surely  a  man  does  not  do  his  duty  who  leaves 
his  wife  to  evenings  of  solitude  ;  and  I  feel  duty  and  happiness  to 
be  inseparable.     I  am  happier  at  home  than  any  other  society 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  151 


can  possibly  make  me.  With  Edith  I  am  ahke  secure  from  the 
wearisomeness  of  solitude,  and  the  disgust  which  I  cannot  help 
feehng  at  the  contemplation  of  mankind,  and  which  I  do  not  wish 
to  suppress. 

Here  is  a  great  deal  about  myself,  and  nothing  about  those 
whom  I  have  seen  in  London,  and  of  whom  we  have  all  heard  in 
the  countr}^  I  will  make  a  report  upon  them  in  my  next  letter. 
God  bless  you.  Yours  sincerely, 

Robert  Southey." 

Letter  from  Robert  Southey,  to  Amos  Cottle,  Magdalen  Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 

'^London,  Feb.  28,  1797. 
20  Prospect  Place,  Newington  Butts. 

*  ''^  ^  Here  I  am  travelling  on  in  the  labyrinth  of 
the  law ;  and  though  I  had  rather  make  books  myself  than  read 
the  best  lawyer's  composition,  I  am  getting  on  cheerfully,  and 
steadily,  and  well. 

While  you  are  amusing  yourself  with  mathematics,  and  I 
lounging  over  the  law,  the  political  and  commercial  world  are  all 
in  alarm  and  confusion.  I  cannot  call  myself  a  calm  witness  of 
all  this,  for  I  sit  by  the  fireside,  hear  little  about  it,  think  less, 
and  see  nothing;  'all  hoping,  and  expecting  all  in  patient  faith.' 
Tranquillity  of  mind  is  a  blessing  too  valuable  to  sacrifice  for  all 
the  systems  man  has  ever  established.  My  day  of  political  en- 
thusiasm is  over.  I  know  what  is  right,  and  as  I  see  that  every- 
thing is  wrong,  care  more  about  the  changing  of  the  wind, 
lest  it  should  make  the  chimney  smoke,  than  for  all  the  empires 
of  Europe."         ^'  '^         '^ 

-'London,  1797. 
My  dear  Friend, 

^         ^  '^'  I  physiognomize  everything,  even  the  very 

oysters  may  be  accurately  judged  by  their  shells.  I  discovered 
this  at  Lisbon,  where  they  are  all  deformed,  hump-backed,  and 
good  for  nothing.  Is  it  not  possible  by  the  appearance  of  a  river 
to  tell  what  fish  are  in  it  ?  In  the  slow  sluggish  stream  you  will 
find  the  heavy  chub.  In  the  livelier  current,  the  trout  and  the 
pike.     If  a  man  loves  prints  you  have  an  excellent  clue  to  his 


REMINISCENCES   OF 


character  ;  take  for  instance,  the  inventory  of  mine  at  College  : — 
Four  views  of  the  ruins  at  Rome  ;  Charles  Fox ;  Belisarius ; 
Niohe ;  and  four  Landscapes  of  Poussin ;  and  Claude  Lorraine. 
These  last  are  a  constant  source  of  pleasure.  I  become  acquainted 
with  the  inhabitants  in  every  house,  and  know  every  inch  of 
ground  in  the  prospect.  They  have  formed  for  me  many  a  pleas- 
ant day-dream.  I  can  methodize  these  into  a  little  poem.  I  am 
now  settled ;  my  books  are  organized  ;  and  this  evening  I  set  off 
on  my  race. 

We  have  a  story  of  a  ghost  here,  who  appears  to  the  watch- 
men,— the  spirit  of  a  poor  girl,  whose  life  was  abandoned,  and 
her  death  most  horrible.  I  am  in  hopes  it  may  prove  true  !  as  I 
have  a  great  love  for  apparitions.  They  make  part  of  the  poeti- 
cal creed.     Fare  you  well. 

Sincerely  yours. 

To  Joseph  Cottle.  Robert  Southey." 

0" 

"London,  March  6,  1797. 

*  ^*  ^  I  am  inclined  to  complain  heavily  of  you, 

Cottle.  Here  am  I  committing  grand  larceny  on  my  time,  in 
writing  to  you  ;  and  you,  who  might  sit  at  your  fire,  and  write  me 
huge  letters,  have  not  found  time  to  fill  even  half  a  sheet.  As 
you  may  suppose,  I  have  enough  of  employment.  I  work  like  a 
negro,  at  law,  and  therefore  neglect  nothing  else,  for  he  who 
never  wastes  time  has  time  always  enough. 

I  have  to  see  many  of  the  London  lions,  or  literati ;  George 
Dyer  is  to  take  me  to  Mary  Hayes,  Miss  Christal,  and  Taylor,  the 
Pagan,  my  near  neighbor.  You  shall  have  my  physiognomical 
remarks  upon  them.  I  hate  this  city  more  and  more,  although  I 
see  little  of  it.  You  do  not  know  with  what  delight  I  anticipate 
a  summer  in  Wales,  and  I  hope  to  spend  the  summer  of  the  next 
year  there,  and  to  talk  Welsh  most  gutturally.  I  shall  see  Meirion 
this  week,  whose  real  name  is  William  Owen.  He  is  the  author 
of  the  new  Welsh  dictionary,  a  man  of  uncommon  erudition,  and 
who  ought  to  esteem  me  for  Madoc's  sake.  Fare  you  well. 
Remember  me  to  all  friends.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  sincerely, 

Robert  Southey." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  153 

*  *  ^  "Perhaps  you  will  be  surprised  to  hear,  that  of  all 
the  lions  of  literati  that  I  have  seen  here,  there  is  not  one  whose 
countenance  has  not  some  unpleasant  trait.  Mary  Imlay  is  the 
best,  infinitely  the  best.  The  only  fault  in  it,  is  an  expression 
somewhat  similar  to  what  the  prints  of  Home  Tooke  display ;  an 
expression  indicating  superiority,  not  haughtiness,  not  conceit,  not 
sarcasm,  in  Mary  Imlay,  but  still  it  is  unpleasant.  Her  eyes  are 
light  brown,  and  though  the  lid  of  one  of  them  is  affected  by  a 
slight  paralysis,  they  are  the  most  meaning  I  ever  saw.  Her 
complexion  is  dark,  sun-burnt,  and  her  skin  a  little  cracked,  for 
she  is  near  forty,  and  affliction  has  borne  harder  on  her  than 
years ;  but  her  manners  are  the  most  pleasing  I  ever  witnessed, 
they  display  warm  feeling,  and  strong  understanding ;  and  the 
knowledge  she  has  acquired  of  men  and  manners,  ornaments,  not 
disguise's,  her  own  character.  I  have  given  an  unreserved  opinion 
of  Mrs.  Barbauld  to  Charles  Danvers. 

While  I  was  with  George  Dyer  one  morning  last  week,  Mary 
Hayes  and  Miss  Christal  entered,  and  the  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion followed.  Mary  Hayes  writes  in  the  New  Monthly  Magazine, 
under  the  signature  of  M.  H.,  and  sometimes  writes  nonsense 
there  about  Helvetius.  She  has  lately  published  a  novel,  '  Emma 
Courtney,'  a  book  much  praised  and  much  abused.  I  have  not 
seen  it  myself,  but  the  severe  censure  passed  on  it  by  persons  of 
narrow  mind,  have  made  me  curious,  and  convinced  me  that  it  is 
at  least  an  uncommon  book.  Mary  Hayes  is  an  agreeable  *voman 
and  a  Godwinite.  Now  if  jou  will  read  Godwin's  book  with  at- 
tention, we  will  determine  between  us,  in  Avhat  light  to  consider 
that  sectarian  title.  As  for  Godwin  himself,  he  has  large  noble 
eyes,  and  a  nose, — oh,  most  abominable  nose  !  Language  is  not 
vituperative  enough  to  express  the  effect  of  its  downward  elonga- 
tion. He  loves  London,  literary  society,  and  talks  nonsense  about 
the  collision  of  mind,  and  Mary  Hayes  echoes  him. 

But  Miss  Christal,  have  you  seen  her  Poems  ?  A  fine,  artless, 
sensible  girl.  Now,  Cottle,  that  word  sensible  must  not  be  con- 
strued here  in  its  dictionary  acceptation.  Ask  a  Frenchman  what 
it  means,  and  he  will  understand  it,  though,  perhaps,  he  can  by 
no  circumlocution  explain  its  French  meaning.  Her  heart  is  alive. 
She  loves  poetry.     She  loves  retirement.     She  loves  the  country. 


154  REMINISCENCES    OF 


Her  verses  are  very  incorrect,  and  the  literary  circle  say,  she  has 
no  genius,  but  she  has  genius,  Joseph  Cottle,  or  there  is  no  truth 
in  physiognomy.  Gilbert  Wakefield  came  in  while  I  was  disput- 
ing with  Mary  Hayes  upon  the  moral  effects  of  towns.  He  has  a 
most  critic-like  voice,  as  if  he  had  snarled  himself  hoarse.  You 
see  I  like  the  women  better  than  the  men.  Indeed  they  are  bet- 
ter animals  in  general,  perhaps  because  more  is  left  to  nature  in 
their  education.  Nature  is  very  good,  but  God  knows  there  is 
very  little  of  it  left. 

I  wish  you  were  within  a  morning's  walk,  but  I  am  always 
persecuted  by  time  and  space.  Robert  Southey,  and  law,  and 
poetry,  make  up  an  odd  kind  of  tri-union.  We  jog  on  easily  to- 
gether, and  I  advance  with  sufficient  rapidity  in  Blackstone,  and 
'  Madoc'  I  hope  to  finish  my  poem,  and  to  begin  my  practice  in 
about  two  years.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

Hi  Ht  Hi  <c  J  ^jj^  running  a  race  with  the  printers  again : 
translating  a  work  from  the  French  :  '  Necker  on  the  French  Revo- 
lution,' vol.  II.  Dr.  Aikin  and  his  son  translate  the  1st  volume. 
My  time  is  wholly  engrossed  by  the  race,  for  I  run  at  the  rate  of 
sixteen  pages  a  day ;  as  hard  going  as  sixteen  miles  for  a  .hack 
horse.     About  sixteen  days  more  will  complete  it. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  my  residing  in  London  till  the  close 
of  the  autumn.  Therefore  after  keeping  the  next  term,  which 
may  be  kept  the  first  week  in  May,  I  intend  to  go  into  the  coun- 
try for  five  months  ;  probably  near  the  sea,  at  the  distance  of  one 
day's  journey  from  London,  for  the  convenience  of  coming  up  to 
keep  the  Trinity  Term.  This  will  not  increase  my  expenses, 
though  it  will  give  me  all  the  pleasure  of  existence  which  London 
annihilates.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

''  My  dear  Cottle, 

*  *  *  George  Dyer  gave  me  what  he  calls  his  '  Crotchet,' 
and  what  I  call  an  indifferent  poem.     Said  he  to  me,  '  I  could 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  155 

not  bring  in  Wordsworth,  and  Lloyd,  and  Lamb,  but  I  put  them  in 
a  note/     That  man  is  all  benevolence. 

If,  which  is  probable,  we  go  to  Hampshire,  I  shall  expect  to 
see  you  there.  It  is  an  easy  day's  ride  from  Bristol  to  Southamp- 
ton ;  but  I  shall  lay  before  you  a  correct  map  of  the  road  when 
all  is  settled. 

I  have  seen  your  Dr.  Baynton's  book.  It  is  vilely  written ;  but 
the  theory  seems  good,  (that  of  bandaging  wounded  legs.)  My 
friend  Carlisle  means  to  try  it  at  the  Westminster  Hospital.  I 
was  somewhat  amused  at  seeing  a  treatise  on  sore  legs,  printed  on 
wove  paper,  and  hot  pressed. 

I  met  Townsend,  the  Spanish  traveller,  a  few  days  since  at  Car- 
lisle's. He  flattered  me  most  unpleasantly  on  *Joan  of  Arc.' 
Townsend  is  much  taller  than  I  am,  and  almost  as  thin.  He  in- 
vited me  to  Pewsey,  and  I  shall  breakfast  with  him  soon.  He  is 
engaged  in  a  work  of  immense  labor ;  the  origin  of  languages.  I 
do  not  like  him  ;  he  is  too  polite  to  be  sincere. 
Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

The  late  George  Dyer,  referred  to  by  Mr.  Sou  they,  was  an 
University  man  who  exercised  his  talents  chiefly  in  writing  for  the 
Periodicals.  His  chief  work  was  ''The  History  of  the  Halls  and 
Colleges  of  Cambridge."  He  published  also  several  small  works. 
The  Poem,  referred  to  above,  was  complimentary,  in  which  he 
noticed  most  of  his  literary  friends.  The  way  in  which  he 
''brought  in"  the  author  of  the  "Pleasures  of  Memory"  was, 
very  properly  putting  wit  before  Avealth, 

"  Was  born  a  banker,  and  then  rose  a  bard." 

George  Dyer  was  sincere,  and  had  great  simplicity  of  manners, 
so  that  he  was  a  favorite  with  all  his  friends.  No  man  in  Lon- 
don encouraged  so  much  as  he  did,  Bloomfield,  the  author  of  the 
"  Farmer's  Boy  ;"  and  he  was  equally  prepared  with  kind  offices 
for  everybody.  He  had  some  odd  fancies,  one  of  which  was, 
that  men  ought  to  live  more  sparingly  and  drink  plenty  of  water- 
gruel.  By  carrying  this  wholesome  precept  on  one  occasion, 
rather  too  far,   he  unhappily  reduced  himself  to  death's  door. 


156  REMINISCENCES   OF 

• ^ 

Charles  Lamb  told  me,  tluit  luiving  once  called  on  him,  at  his 
room  in  Clifford's  Inn,  he  found  a  little  girl  with  him,  (one  of  his 
nieces,)  whom  he  was  teaching  to  sing  hymns. 

Mr.  Coleridge  related  to  me  a  rather  ludicrous  circumstance 
concerning  George  Dyer,  which  Charles  Lamb  had  told  him,  the 
last  time  he  passed  through  London.  Charles  Lamb  had  heard 
that  George  Dyer  was  very  ill,  and  hastened  to  see  him.  He 
found  him  in  an  emaciated  state,  shivering  over  a  few  embers. 
*'  Ah  1"  said  George,  as  Lamb  entered,  *'  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
You  w^on't  have  me  here  long.  I  have  just  written  this  letter  to 
my  young  nephews  and  nieces,  to  come  immediately  and  take  a 
final  leave  of  their  uncle."  Lamb  found,  on  inquiry,  that  he  had 
latterly  been  living  on  water-gruel,  and  a  low  starving  diet,  and 
readily  divined  the  cause  of  his  maladies.  "  Come,"  said  Lamb, 
"  I  shall  take  you  home  immediately  to  my  house,  and  I  and  my 
sister  w^ill  nurse  you."  "  Ah  !  "  said  George  Dyer,  "  it  won't  do." 
The  hackney  coach  was  soon  at  the  door,  and  as  the  sick  man  en- 
tered it,  he  said  to  Lamb,  "  Alter  the  address,  and  then  send  the 
letter  with  all  speed  to  the  poor  children."  "  I  will,"  said  Lamb, 
''and  at  the  same  time  call  the  doctor." 

George  Dyer  was  now  seated  by  Charles  Lamb's  comfortable 
fire,  while  Lamb  hastened  to  his  medical  friend,  and  told  him  that 
a  worthy  man  was  at  his  house  who  had  almost  starved  himself 
on  water-gruel.  "  You  must  come,"  said  he,  "  directly,  and  pre- 
scribe some  kitchen  stuff,  or  the  poor  man  will  be  dead.  He 
won't  take  anything  from  me  ;  he  says,  'tis  all  useless."  Away 
both  the  philanthropists  hastened,  and  Charles  Lamb,  anticipating 
what  would  be  required,  furnished  himself,  on  the  road,  with  a 
pound  of  beef-steaks.  The  doctor  now  entered  the  room,  and  ad- 
vancing towards  his  patient,  felt  his  pulse,  and  asked  him  a  few 
questions ;  when,  looking  grave,  he  said,  "  Sir,  you  are  in  a  very 
dangerous  way."  "  I  know  it.  Sir,  I  know  it.  Sir,"  said  George 
Dyer.  The  Dr.  replied,  ''  Sir,  yours  is  a  very  peculiar  case,  and 
if  you  do  not  implicitly  follow  my  directions,  you  will  die  of  atro- 
phy before  to-morrow  morning.  It  is  the  only  possible  chance 
of  saving  your  life.  You  must  directly  make  a  good  meal  of 
beef-steaks,  and  drink  the  best  part  of  a  pot  of  porter."  "  Tis 
too  late,"  said  George,  but  "  I'll  eat,  I'll  eat."     The  doctor  now 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  157 

withdrew,  and  so  nicely  had  Lamb  calculated  on  results,  that  the 
steaks  were  all  this  time  broiling  on  the  lire  !  and,  as  though  by 
magic,  the  doctor  had  scarcely  left  the  room,  when  the  steaks  and 
the  porter  were  both  on  the  table. 

Just  as  George  Dyer  had  begun  voraciously  to  feast  on  the 
steaks,  his  young  nephews  and  nieces  entered  the  room  crying. 
"  Good  bye,  my  dears,"  said  George,  taking  a  deep  draught  of 
the  porter.  "  You  won't  see  me  much  longer."  After  a  few 
mouthfuls  of  the  savory  steak,  he  further  said,  ''be  good  chil- 
dren, when  I  am  gone."  Taking  another  draught  of  the  porter,  he 
continued,  "  mind  your  books,  and  don't  forget  your  hymns." 
"  We  won't,"  answered  a  little  shrill  silvery  voice,  from  among  the 
group,  ''Ave  won't,  dear  uncle."  He  now  gave  them  all  a  parting 
kiss ;  when  the  children  retired  in  a  state  of  w^onderment,  that 
"sick  Uncle"  should  be  able  to  eat  and  drink  so  heartily.  ''And 
so,"  said  Lamb,  in  his  own  peculiar  phraseology,  "  at  night,  I 
packed  up  his  little  nipped  carcass  snug  in  bed,  and,  after  stuff- 
ing him  for  a  week,  sent  him  home  as  plump  as  a  partridge." 

"April,  26,  1797. 
*  *  *  I  have  finished  Necker  this  morning,  and  return 
again  to  my  regular  train  of  occupation.  Would  that  digging  po- 
tatoes were  amongst  them  !  and  if  I  live  a  dozen  years,  you  shall 
eat  potatoes  of  my  digging:  but  I  must  think  now  of  the 
present. 

Some  Mr. sent  me  a  volume  of  his  poems,  last  week.     I 

read  his  book  :  it  was  not  above  mediocrity.  He  seems  very  fond 
of  poetry  and  even  to  a  superstitious  reverence  of  Thomson's 
'  old  table,'  and  even  of  Miss  Seward,  whose  MS.  he  rescued  from 
the  printer.  I  called  on  him  to  thank  him,  and  was  not  sorry  to 
find  him  not  at  home.  But  the  next  day  a  note  arrived  with 
more  praise.  He  Avished  my  personal  acquaintance,  and  '  trusts  1 
shall  excuse  the  frankness  which  avows,  that  it  would  gratify  his 
feelings  to  receive  a  copy  of  Joan  of  Arc  from  the  author.'  1 
thought  this,  to  speak  tenderly,  not  a  very  modest  request,  but 
there  is  a  something  in  my  nature  which  prevents  me  from 
silently  displaying  my  sentiments,  if  that  display  can  give  pain, 
and  so  I  answered  his  note,  and  sent  him  the  book.     He  writes 


158  REMINISCENCES   OF 

sonnets  to  Miss  Seward,  and  Mr.  Hayley ;  enough  to  stamp  him 
'  blockhead.' 

Carlisle  and  I,  instead  of  our  neighbors'  '  Revolutionary  Tribu- 
nal/ mean  to  erect  a  physiognomical  one,  and  as  transportation  is 
to  be  the  punishment  instead  of  guillotining,  we  shall  put  the 
whole  navy  in  requisition  to  carry  off  all  ill-looking  fellows,  and 
then  we  may  walk  London  streets  without  being  jostled.  You 
are  to  be  one  of  the  Jury,  and  we  must  get  some  good  limner  to 
take  down  the  evidence.  Witnesses  will  be  needless.  The  fea- 
tures of  a  man's  face  will  rise  up  in  judgment  against  him  ;  and 
the  very  voice  that  pleads  '  Not  guilty,'  will  be  enough  to  convict 
the  raven-toned  criminal. 

I  supped  last  night  wdth  Ben.  Flower,  of  Cambridge,  at  Mr. 
P.'s,  and  never  saw  so  much  coarse  strength  in  a  countenance. 
He  repeated  to  me  an  epigram  on  the  dollars  which  perhaps  you 
may  not  have  seen. 

To  make  Spanish  dollars  with  Englishmen  pass, 
Stamp  the  head  of  a  fool,  on  the  tail  of  an  ass.* 

This  has  a  coarse  strength  rather  than  a  point.  Danvers  tells 
me  that  you  have  written  to  Herbert  Croft.  Give  me  some  ac- 
count of  your  letter.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  and  tell  me  how 
you  all  are,  and  what  is  going  on  in  the  little  world  of  Bristol. 
God  bless  you. 

Youi'S  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

>k  %  %  u  We  dine  with  Mary  Wolstoncroft  (now  Godwin) 
to-morrow.  Oh !  he  has  a  foul  nose  !  I  never  see  it  without 
longing  to  cut  it  off.  By  the  by.  Dr.  Hunter  (the  murderer  of 
St.  Pierre)f  told  me  that  I  had  exactly  Lavater's  nose,  to  my  no 
small  satisfaction,  for  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  that  protu- 
berance, or  promontory  of  mine.  I  could  not  compliment  him. 
He  has  a  very  red  drinking  face :  little  good-humored  eyes,  with 
the  skin  drawn  up  under  them,  like  cunning  and  short- sighted- 

*  During  the  French  war,  Spanish  dollars  received  the  impression  of  the 
King's  head,  and  then  passed  as  the  current  coin,  at  4s.  6d 
t  Dr.  Hunter  translated  St.  Pierre. 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  159 

ness  united.  I  saw  Dr.  Hunter  again  yesterday.  I  neither  like 
him,  nor  his  wife,  nor  his  son,  nor  his  daughter,  nor  anything 
that  is  his.  To-night  I  am  to  meet  Opie.  God  bless  you. 
Edith's  love. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

*^May,  1797. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  *  *  Opie  indeed  is  a  very  extraordinary  man.  I  have 
^.now  twice  seen  him.  Without  anything  of  poHteness,  his  man- 
ners are  pleasing,  though  their  freedom  is  out  of  the  common ; 
and  his  conversation,  though  in  a  half-uttered,  half- Cornish,  half- 
croak,  is  interestino\  There  is  a  stranore  contrast  between  his 
genius,  which  is  not  confined  to  painting,  and  the  vulgarity  of  his 
appearance, — -his  manners,  and  sometimes  of  his  language.  You 
will,  however,  easily  conceive  that  a  man  who  can  paint  like  Opie, 
must  display  the  same  taste  on  other  subjects.  He  is  very  fond 
of  Spenser.  No  author  furnishes  so  many  pictures,  he  says.  You 
may  have  seen  his  *  Britomart  delivering  Amoret.'  He  has  begun 
a  picture  from  Spenser,  which  he  himself  thinks  his  best  design, 
but  it  has  remained  untouched  for  three  years.  The  outline  is 
wonderfully  fine.  It  is  the  delivery  of  Serena  from  the  Salvages, 
by  Calepine.  You  will  find  the  story  in  the  6th  book  of  the 
'Fairy  Queen.'  The  subject  has  often  struck  me  as  being  fit  for 
the  painter. 

I  saw  Dr.  Gregory  (Biographer  of  Chatterton)  to-day ;  a  very 
brown-looking  man,  of  most  pinquescent,  and  full-moon  cheeks. 
There  is  much  tallow  in  him.  I  like  his  wife,  and  perhaps  him, 
too,  but  his  Christianity  is  of  an  intolerant  order,  and  he  affects  a 
solemnity  when  talking  of  it,  which  savors  of  the  high  priest. 
When  he  comes  before  the  physiognomical  tribunal,  we  must  melt 
him  down.     He  is  too  portly.     God  bless  you.     ^     ^     ^ 

Yours  truly, 

Robert  Southey." 

"May,  1797. 
*     *     *      I  fancy  you  see  no  hand-writing  so  often  as  mine. 
I  have  been  much  pleased  with  your  letter  to  Herbert  Croft.     I 


160  REMINISCENCES   OF 


was  at  Dr.  Gregory's  last  night.  He  has  a  nasal  twang  right 
priestly  in  its  note.  He  said  he  would  gladly  abridge  his  life  of 
Chatterton,  if  I  required  it.  ]3ut  it  is  a  bad  work,  and  Coleridge 
should  write  a  new  one,  or  if  he  declines  it,  let  it  devolve  on 
me.*  They  knew  Miss  Wesley,  daughter  of  Charles  Wesley, 
with  whom  I  once  dined  at  your  house.  She  told  them,  had  he 
not  prematurely  died,  that  she  was  going  to  be  married  to  John 
Henderson.     Is  this  true  ?f 

I  have  a  treasure  for  you.  A  '  Treatise  on  Miracles,'  written 
by  John  Henderson,  your  old  tutor,  for  Coleridge's  brother 
George,  and  given  to  me  by  a  pupil  of  his,  John  May,  a  Lisbon  . 
acquaintance,  and  a  very  valuable  one.  John  May  is  anxious  for 
a  full  life  of  John  Henderson.  You  should  get  Agutter's  papers. 
You  ought  also  to  commit  to  paper  all  you  know  concerning  him, 
and  all  you  can  collect,  that  the  documents  may  remain,  if  you  de- 
cline it.     If  the  opportunity  pass,  he  will  die  without  his  fame. 

I  have  lost  myself  in  the  bottomless  profundity  of  Gilbert's  pa- 
pers. Fire,  and  water,  and  cubes,  and  sybils,  and  Mother  Church, 
&c.  &c.  Poor  fellow.  I  have  been  introduced  to  a  man,  not  un- 
like him  in  his  ideas, — Taylor  the  Pagan,  a  most  devout  Heathen ! 
who  seems  to  have  some  hopes  of  me.  He  is  equally  unintelligi- 
ble, but  his  eye  has  not  that  inexpressible  wildness,  which  some- 
times half-terrified  us  in  Gilbert." 

^^  Christ  Church,  June  14,  1797. 

*  *  ^  I  am  in  a  place  I  like :  the  awkwardness  of  intro- 
duction over,  and  the  acquaintance  I  have  made  here  pleasant. — 
*  *  Your  letter  to  Herbert  Croft  has  made  him  some  enemies 
here.  I  wish  much  to  see  you  on  that  business.  Bad  as  these 
times  are  for  literature,  a  subscription  might  be  opened  now  with 
great  success,  for  Mrs.  Newton,  (Chatterton's  sister,)  and  the  whole 
statement  of  facts  ought  to  be  published  in  the  prospectus. 

Time  gallops  with  me.     I  am  at  work  now  for  the  Monthly  Mag- 

*  Dr.  Gregory's  life  was  prefixed  entire  to  the  collection  of  Chatterton's 
works,  3  vols.  8vo.  Mr.  Southey  never  fulfilled  his  intention  of  writing  a 
life  of  Chatterton.  The  able  review  of  this  work,  in  the  Edinburgh,  was 
written  by  Sir  Walter  Scott, 

•f  It  was  not  true,  but  a  vain  fancy ;  causelessly  entertained,  by,  at  least, 
four  other  ladies,  under  the  same  delusion  as  Miss  W. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  161 


azine,  upon  Spanish  poetry.  If  vre  are  unsuccessful  here  (in  suit- 
ing ourselves  with  a  house)  I  purpose  writing  to  Wordsworth,  and 
asking  him  if  we  can  get  a  place  in  his  neighborhood.  If  not, 
down  we  go  to  Dorsetshire.  Oh,  for  a  snug  island  in  the  farthest 
of  all  seas,  surrounded  by  the  highest  of  ail  rocks,  where  I  and 
some  ten  or  twelve  more  might  lead  the  happiest  of  all  possible 
lives,  totally  secluded  from  the  worst  of  all  possible  monsters, 
man."     *     '^     '' 

"  Christ  Church,  June  18,  1797. 

^  ^  %  The  main  purport  of  my  writing  is,  to  tell  you  that 
we  have  found  a  house  for  the  next  half  year.  If  I  had  a  mind 
to  affect  a  pastoral  style,  I  might  call  it  a  cottage ;  but,  in  plain 
English,  it  is-  exactly  w^hat  it  expresses.  We  have  got  a  sitting- 
room,  and  two  bedrooms,  in  a  house  w^hich  you,  may  call  a  cot- 
tage if  you  like  it,  and  that  one  of  these  bedrooms  is  ready  for 
you,  and  the  sooner  you  take  possession  of  it  the  better.  You 
must  let  me  know  when  you  come  that  I  may  meet  you. 

So  you  have  had  Kosciusco  with  you,  (in  Bristol,)  and  bitterly 
do  I  regret  not  having  seen  him.  If  he  had  remained  one  week 
longer  in  London,  I  should  have  seen  him  ;  and  to  have  seen 
Kosciusco  w^ould  have  been  something  to  talk  of  all  the  rest  of 
one's  life. 

We  have  a  congregation  of  rivers  here,  the  clearest  you  ever 
saw:  plenty  of  private  boats  too.  We  w^ent  down  to  the  harbor 
on  Friday,  in  Mr.  Rickman's  ;^  a  sensible  young  man,  of  rough 

*  On  visiting  Mr.  Southey,  at  Christ-Church,  he  introduced  to  me  this  Mr. 
Rickman,  whom  I  found  sensible  enough,  and  blunt  enough,  and  seditious 
enough ;  that  is,  simply  anti-ministerial.  The  celebrated  Sir  G.  Rose,  had 
his  seat  in  the  vicinity.  Sir  George  was  a  sort  of  King  of  the  district.  He 
was  also  Colonel  of  a  regiment  of  volunteers.  Mr.  Rickman  told  me  that 
the  great  man  had  recently  made  a  feast  for  the  officers  of  his  regiment,  (about 
a  dozen  of  them.)  the  substantial  yeomen  of  the  neighborhood.  After  the 
usual  bumper  had  uproariously  been  offered  to  the  "  King  and  Constitution; 
and  confusion  to  all  Jacobins,''  the  Colonel  Sir  G.  called  on  the  Lieutenant- 
Colonel,  after  the  glasses  were  duly  charged,  for  a  lady-toast.  "  I'll  give  you,'' 
he  replied,  "  Lady  Rose."  This  being  received  with  all  honors,  the  Major  was 
now  applied  to  for  his  lady-toast.  "  I  can't  mend  it,"  he  replied,  "  111  give 
Lady  Rose."  A  Captain  was  now  called  on;  said  he,  "I  am  sure  I  can't 
mend  it,  Lady  Rose."  So  that  the  whole  of  these  military  heroes  concurred 
in  drinking  good  Lady  Rose's  health. 


162  REMINISCENCES   OF 

but  mild   manners,  and  very  seditious.     He  and  I  rowed,  and 
Edith  was  pilot.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

Mr.  Rickman  afterwards  acquired  some  celebrity.  He  became 
private  secretary  to  the  prime  minister,  Mr.  Perceval,  and  after- 
wards for  many  years,  was  one  of  the  clerks  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  He  published  also,  in  4to,  a  creditable  Life  of  Telford, 
the  great  engineer,  and  officially  conducted  the  first  census,  (1800,) 
a  most  laborious  undertaking.  The  second  census  (1810)  was 
conducted  in  a  rery  efficient  way,  by  Mr.  Thomas  Poole,  whose 
name  often  appears  in  this  work,  appointed  through  the  influence 
of  Mr.  Rickman. 

"London,  Dec.  14,  1797. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  found  your  parcel  on  my  return  from  a  library  belonging  to 
the  Dissenters,  (Dr.  Williams's  Library,)  in  Redcross-street,  from 
which,  by  permission  of  Dr.  Towers,  I  brought  back  books  of 
great  importance  for  my  '  Maid  of  Orleans.'  A  hackney  coach 
horse  turned  into  a  field  of  grass,  falls  not  more  eagerly  to  a  break- 
fast which  lasts  the  whole  day,  than  I  attacked  the  old  folios,  so 
respectably  covered  with  dust.  I  begin  to  like  dirty  rotten  bind- 
ing, and  vv^ienever  I  get  among  books,  pass  hy  the  gilt  coxcombs, 
and  disturb  the  spiders.  But  you  shall  hear  what  I  have  got.  A 
Latin  poem  in  four  long  books,  on  '  Joan  of  Arc  :'  very  bad,  but 
it  gives  me  a  quaint  note  or  tvvo,  and  Yalerandus  Valerius  is  a 
fine  name  for  a  quotation.  A  small  4to,  of  the  'Life  of  the 
Maid,'  chiefly  extracts  from  forgotten  authors,  printed  at  Paris, 

One  of  the  officers,  it  appeared,  was  a  bit  of  a  poet,  and  had  composed  a 
choice  song  for  this  festive  occasion,  and  which  was  sung  in  grand  chorus, 
the  Right  Honorable  Colonel  himself  heartily  joining.     The  whole  ditty  was 
supremely  ludicrous.     I  remember  only  the  last  verse. 
"  Sir  Geor>xe  Rose  is  our  Commander, 
He's  as  great  as  Alexander ; 
He'll  never  flinch,  nor  stir  back  an  inch, 
He  loves  fire  like  a  Salamander. 
Chorus — He  loves  fire  like  a  Salamander." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  163 

1712,  with  a  print  of  her  on  horseback.  A  sketch  of  her  life  by 
Jacobus  Philippus  Bergomensis — bless  the  length  of  his  erudite 
name. 

John  May,  and  Carlisle,  (surgeon,)  were  with  me  last  night,  and 
we  struck  out  a  plan,  which,  if  we  can  effect  it,  will  be  of  great 
use.  It  is  to  be  called  the  *  Convalescent  Asylum' ;  and  intended 
to  receive  persons  who  are  sent  from  the  hospitals  ;  as  the  imme- 
diate return  to  unwholesome  air,  bad  diet,  and  all  the  loathsome- 
ness of  poverty,  destroys  a  very  great  number.  The  plan  is  to 
employ  them  in  a  large  garden,  and  it  is  supposed  in  about  three 
years,  the  institution  would  pay  itself,  on  a  small  scale  for  forty 
persons.  The  success  of  one,  would  give  birth  to  many  others. 
C.  W.  W.  Wynn  enters  heartily  into  it.  We  meet  on  Saturday 
again,  and  as  soon  as  the  plan  is  at  all  digested,  Carlisle  means  to 
send  it  to  Dr.  Beddoes,  for  his  inspection.  We  were  led  to  this 
by  the  circumstance  of  finding  a  poor  woman,  almost  dying  for 
want,  who  is  now  rapidly  recovering  in  the  hospital,  under 
Carlisle. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey.'* 

^'1798. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

In  the  list  of  the  killed  and  wounded  of  the  '  Mars,'  you  saw 
the  name  of  Bligli,  a  midshipman.  I  remember  rejoicing  at  the 
time,  that  it  was  not  a  name  I  knew.  Will  you  be  surprised  that 
the  object  of  this  letter  is  to  require  your  assistance  in  raising 
some  little  sum  for  the  widow  of  this  man. 

I  cannot  express  to  you  how  deep  and  painful  an  interest  I  take 
in  the  history  of  this  man.  My  brother  Tom.,  an  officer  in  the 
same  ship,  loved  him  ;  and  well  he  might,  for  poor  Bhgh  was  a 
a  man,  who,  out  of  his  midshipman's  pay,  allowed  his  wife  and 
children  thirteen  pounds  a  year.  He  wished  to  be  made  master's 
mate,  that  he  might  make  the  sum  twenty  pounds,  and  then  he 
said  they  would  be  happy.  He  was  a  man  alDout  thirty-five  years 
of  age  ;  an  unlettered  man,  of  strong  natural  powers,  and  of  a 
heart,  of  which  a  purer,  and  a  better,  never  lived.  I  could  tell 
you  anecdotes  of  him  that  would  make  your  eyes  overflow,  like 


164  REMINISCENCES   OF 


mine.  Surely,  Cottle,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  sending. his 
poor  wife  some  little  sum.  Five  guineas  would  be  much  to  Ifer. 
We  will  give  one,  and  I  will  lay  friends  in  London  under  contri- 
bution.    God  bless  you. 

Yours  truly, 
«  Robert  Southey." 

"Hereford,  1798. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

My  time  here  has  been  completely  occupied  in  riding  about  the 
country.  I  have  contrived  to  manufacture  one  eclogue,  and  that 
is  all ;  but  the  exercise  of  riding  has  jostled  a  good  many  ideas 
into  my  brain,  and  I  have  plans  enough  for  a  long  leisure.  You 
know  my  tale  of  the  '  Adite,'  in  the  garden  of  Irem.  I  have 
tacked  it  on  to  an  old  plan  of  mine  upon  the  destruction  of  the 
Domdanyel,  and  made  the  beginning,  middle,  and  end.  There  is 
a  tolerable  skeleton  formed.  It  will  extend  to  ten  or  twelve  books, 
and  they  appear  to  me  to  possess  much  strong  conception  in  the 
Arabian  manner.  It  will  at  least  prove  that  I  did  not  reject  ma- 
chinery in  my  Epics,  because  I  could  not  wield  it.  This  only 
forms  part  of  a  magnificent  project,  which  I  do  not  despair  of 
one  day  completing,  in  the  destruction  of  the  '  Domdanyel.'  My 
intention  is,  to  show  off  all  the  splendor  of  the  Mohammedan  be- 
lief. I  intend  to  do  the  same  to  the  Runic  and  Oriental  systems ; 
to  preserve  the  costume  of  place  as  well  as  of  religion. 

I  have  been  thinking  that  though  we  have  been  disappointed 
of  our  Welsh  journey,  a  very  delightful  pilgrimage  is  still  within 
our  reach.  Suppose  you  were  to  meet  me  at  Ross.  We  go  thence 
down  the  W^ye  to  Monmouth.  On  the  way  are  Goodrich  castle, 
the  place  where  Henry  Y.  was  nursed ;  and  Arthur's  cavern. 
Then  there  is  Ragland  castle,  somewhere  thereabout,  and  we 
might  look  again  at  Tintern.  I  should  like  this  much.  The 
Welsh  mail  from  Bristol,  comes  every  day  through  Ross ;  we  can 
meet  there.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  and  then  I  Avill  fix  the  day, 
and  we  will  see  the  rocks  and  woods  in  all  their  beauty.  God 
bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  165 

"Exeter,  Sept.  22,  lYOO. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  "^  "-^  You  will,  I  hope,  soon  have  a  cargo  to  send 
me  of  your  own,  for  the  second  volume  of  the  '  Anthology,'  and 
some  from  Davy.  If  poor  Mrs.  Yearsley  were  living  I  should  like 
much  to  have  her  name  there.  As  yet  I  have  only  Coleridge's 
pieces,  and  my  own,  amounting  to  eighty  or  one  hundred  pages. 
*Thalaba,  the  Destroyer,'  is  progressing. 

There  is  a  poem  called  *  Geber,'  of  which  I  know  not  whether 
my  review  of  it,  in  the  '  Critical,'  be  yet  printed,  but  in  that  review 
you  will  find  some  of  the  most  exquisite  poetry  in  the  language. 
The  poem  is  such  as  Gilbert,  if  he  were  only  half  as  mad  as  he  is, 
could  have  written.  I  would  go  a  hundred  miles  to  see  the 
(anonymous)  author.  "^ 

There  are  some  worthies  in  Exeter,  with  whom  I  have  passed 
some  pleasant  days,  but  the  place  is  miserably  bigoted.  Would 
you  believe  that  there  are  persons  here  who  still  call  the  Ameri- 
cans *the  Rebels.'  Exeter  is  the  filthiest  town  in  England;  a 
gutter  running  down  the  middle  of  every  street  and  lane.  We 
leave  on  Monday  week.  I  shall  rejoice  to  breathe  fresh  air. 
Exeter,  however,  has  the  best  collection  of  old  books  for  sale,  of 
any  town  out  of  London.f 

I  have  lately  made  up  my  mind  to  undertake  one  great  histori- 
cal work,  the  *  History  of  Portugal,'  but  for  this,  and  for  many 
other  noble  plans,  I  want  uninterrupted  leisure  ;  time  wholly  my 
own,  and  not  frittered  away  by  little  periodical  employments. 
My  working  at  such  work  is  Columbus  serving  before  the  mast. 
God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

"Falmouth,  1800. 
My  dear  Cottle, 
Our  journey  here  was  safe,  but  not  without  accidents.     We 

*  Walter  Savage  Landor. 

t  The  character  of  Exeter  has  been  completely  changed  since  the  period 
when  this  letter  was  written ;  and  from  a  town,  the  least  attractive,  for  im- 
provements of  every  description,  it  may  now  vie  vvrith  any  town  in  England, 


166  REMINISCENCES   OF 


found  the  packet,  by  which  we  were  to  sail,  detained  by  the  wind, 
and  we  are  watching  it  with  daily  anxiety."^' 

A  voyage  is  a  serious  thing,  and  particularly  an  outward-bound 
voyage.  The  hope  of  departure  is  never  an  exhilarating  hope. 
Inns  are  always  comfortless,  and  the  wet  weather  that  detains  us 
at  Falmouth,  imprisons  us.  Dirt,  noise,  restlessness,  expectation, 
impatience, — fine  cordials  for  the  spirits  ! 

Devonshire  is  an  ugly  county.  I  have  no  patience  with  the 
cant  of  travellers,  who  so  bepraise  it.  They  have  surely  slept  all 
the  way  through  Somersetshire.  Its  rivers  are  beautiful,  very 
beautiful,  but  nothing  else.  High  hills,  all  angled  over  with 
hedges,  and  no  trees.  Wide  views,  and  no  object.  I  have  heard 
a  good  story  of  our  friend,  Charles  Fox.  When  his  house,  at  this 
place,  was  on  fire,  he  found  all  efforts  to  save  it  useless,  and  be- 
ing a  good  draughtsman,  he  went  up  the  next  hill  to  make  a  draw- 
ing of  the  fire  !  the  best  instance  of  philosophy  I  ever  heard. 

I  have  received  letters  from  Rickman  and  Coleridge.  Coleridge 
talks  of  flaying  Sir  Herbert  Croft.  This  may  not  be  amiss.  God 
bless  you.  I  shake  you  mentally  by  the  hand,  and  when  we  shake 
hands  bodily,  trust  that  you  will  find  me  a  repaired  animal,  with 
a  head  fuller  of  knowledge,  and  a  trunk  full  of  manuscripts.  Tell 
Davy  this  Cornwall  is  such  a  vile  county,  that  nothing  but  its 
merit,  as  his  birth-place,  redeems  it  from  utter  execration.  I  have 
found  in  it  nothing  but  rogues,  restive  horses,  and  wet  weather ; 
and  neither  Pilchards,  White-ale,  or  Squab-pie,  were  to  be  ob- 
tained !  Last  night  I  dreamt  that  Davy  had  killed  himself  by  an 
explosion.     Once  more,  God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

Mr.  Southey,  in  this  second  visit  to  Lisbon,  sent  me  the  follow- 
ing poetical  letter,  which,  for  ease,  vivacity,  and  vigorous  descrip- 
tion, stands  at  the  head  of  that  class  of  compositions.  A  friendly 
vessel,  mistaken  for  a  French  privateer,  adds  to  the  interest.  In 
one  part,  the  poet  conspicuously  bursts  forth. 

*  Mr.  Southey  paid  this  second  visit  to  Lisbon,  accompanied  by  Mw- 
Southey. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  167 

"Lisbon,  May  9th,  1800. 

Dear  Cottle,  d'ye  see, 
In  writing  to  thee, 
I  do  it  in  rhyme. 
That  I  may  save  time, 
Determin'd  to  say. 
Without  any  delay, 
"Whatever  comes  first. 
Whether  best  or  worst. 
Alack  for  me  ! 
When  I  was  at  sea. 
For  I  lay  like  a  log, 
As  sick  as  a  dog, 
And  whoever  this  readeth. 
Will  pity  poor  Edith  : 
Indeed  it  was  shocking. 
The  vessel  fast  rocking, 
The  timbers  all  creaking, 
And  when  we  were  speaking. 
It  was  to  deplore 
That  we  were  not  on  shore. 
And  to  vow  we  would  never  go  voyaging  more. 

The  fear  of  our  fighting. 
Did  put  her  a  fright  in, 
And  I  had  alarms 
For  my  legs  and  my  arms. 
When  the  matches  were  smoking, 
I  thought  'twas  no  joking, 
And  though  honor  and  glory 
And  fame  were  before  me, 
'Twas  a  great  satisfaction, 
That  we  had  not  an  action. 
And  I  felt  somewhat  bolder. 
When  I  knew  that  my  head  might  remain  on  my  shoulder. 

But  O  !  'twas  a  pleasure. 
Exceeding  all  measure, 
On  the  deck  to  stand. 
And  look  at  the  land ; 
And  when  I  got  there, 
I  vow  and  declare. 
The  pleasure  was  even 
Like  getting  to  Heaven  . 
I  could  eat  and  drink, 
As  you  may  think  ; 
I  could  sleep  at  ease, 
Except  for  the  fleas, 


IG8  REMINISCENCES   OP 


But  still  the  sea-feeling, — 
The  drunken  reeling, 
Did  not  go  away 
For  more  than  a  day  : 
Like  a  cradle,  the  bed 
Seemed  to  rock  my  head, 
And  the  room  and  the  town, 
Went  up  and  down. 

My  Edith  here, 

Thinks  all  things  queer, 
And  some  things  she  likes  well ; 

But  then  the  street 

She  thinks  not  neat, 
And  does  not  like  the  smell. 

Nor  do  the  fleas 

Her  fancy  please, 
Although  the  fleas  like  her ; 

They  at  first  view 

Fell  merrily  to. 
For  they  made  no  demur. 

But,  O,  the  sight ! 

The  great  delight ! 
From  this  my  window,  west ! 

This  view  so  fine. 

This  scene  divine  ! 
The  joy  that  I  love  best ! 

The  Tagus  here, 

So  broad  and  clear, 
Blue,  in  the  clear  blue  noon — 

And  it  lies  light, 

All  silver  white, 
Under  the  silver  moon  ! 

Adieu,  adieu. 

Farewell  to  you. 
Farewell,  my  friend  so  dear, 

Write  when  you  may, 

I  need  not  say. 
How  gladly  we  shall  hear. 

I  leave  ofl"  rhyme. 

And  so  next  time. 
Prose  writing  you  shall  see  ; 

But  in  rhyme  or  prose, 

Dear  Joseph  knows 
The  same  old  friend  in  me. 


Robert  Southey.' 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  lOO 

"Portugal,  Cintra,  July,  1800. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  write  at  a  five  minutes'  notice.  The  unforeseen  and  unlucky 
departure  of  my  only  friend  gives  me  occasion  for  this  letter,  and 
opportunity  to  send  it.  It  is  Miss  Barker  Congreve.  She  is  a 
woman  of  uncommon  talents,  with  whom  we  have  been  wander- 
ing over  these  magnificent  mountains,  till  she  made  the  greatest 
enjoyment  of  the  place.  I  feel  a  heavier  depression  of  spirits  at 
losing  her  than  I  have  known  since  Tom  left  me  at  Liskard. 

We  are  at  Cintra :  I  am  well  and  active,  in  better  health  than 
I  have  long  known,  and  till  to-day,  in  uninterrupted  gayety  at 
heart.  I  am  finishing  the  eleventh  book  of  '  Thalaba,'  and  shall 
certainly  have  written  the  last  before  this  reaches  you.  My  Bris- 
tol friends  have  neglected  me.  Danvers  has  not  written,  and 
Edith  is  without  a  line  from  either  of  her  sisters. 

My  desk  is  full  of  materials  for  the  literary  history,  which  will 
require  only  the  labor  of  arrangement  and  translation,  on  my  re- 
turn. I  shall  have  the  knowledge  for  the  great  work ;  and  my 
miscellaneous  notes  will  certainly  swell  into  a  volume  of  much  odd 
and  curious  matter.  Pray,  write  to  me.  You  know  not  how  I 
hunger  and  thirst  for  Bristol  news.  I  long  to  be  among  you.  If 
I  could  brino^  this  climate  to  Bristol,  it  would  make  me  a  new  be- 
ing ;  but  I  am  in  utter  solitude  of  all  rational  society ;  in  a  state 
of  mental  famine,  save  that  I  feed  on  rocks  and  woods,  and  the 
richest  banquet  nature  can  possibly  offer  to  her  worshippers. 
God  bless  you. 

Abuse  Danvers  for  me.  Remember  me  to  Davy,  and  all  friendly 
inquirers.  Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

P.  S.— *         ^  *         The  zeal  of  the  Methodists  and  their 

itinerant  preachers,  has  reprieved  for  half  a  century  the  system  ; 
but  you  must  be  aware,  that  sooner  or  later,  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land will  absorb  all  those  sects  that  differ  only  in  discipline.  The 
comfortable  latitude  that  takes  in  the  Calvinist  and  the  Arminian, 
must  triumph.  The  Catholic  principle  will,  perhaps,  last  the 
longest;  and  bids  fair  to  continue  as  a  political  establishment, 
when  all  its  professors  shall  laugh  at  its  absurdity.     Destroy  its 

8 


170  REMINISCENCES    OF 

monastic  orders,  and  marry  the  priests,  and  the  rest  is  a  pretty 
puppet-show,  with  the  idols,  and  the  incense,  and  the  polytheism, 
and  the  pomp  of  paganism.     God  bless  you. 

R.  S." 


''Bristol,  Aug.  1802. 
Dear  Cottle, 

Well  done,  good  and  faithful  editor.  I  suspect  that  it  is  fortu- 
nate for  the  edition  of  Chatterton,  that  its  care  has  devolved  upon 
you. 

The  note  with  which  you  preface  '  Burgum's  Pedigree,'  need  not 
come  to  me,  as  the  M.S.  is  yours,  whatever  inferences  may  be 
drawn  from  it,  will  be  by  you.  Add  your  name  at  the  end  to 
give  it  the  proper  authority.  I  shall  know  how  to  say  enough,  in 
the  preface,  about  all  other  aiders  and  abetters,  but  it  will  not  be 
easy  to  mention  such  a  ringleader  as  yourself  in  words  of  ade- 
quate acknowledgment. 

What  you  have  detected  in  the  '  Tournament'  I  have  also  ob- 
served in  Barrett,  in  the  omission  of  a  passage  of  bombast  con- 
nected with  one  of  the  accounts  of  the  Bristol  churches.  Your 
copy  of  the  '  Tournament'  being  in  Chatterton's  own  hand-wri- 
ting is  surely  the  best  authority.  We  are  now  of  one  opinion, 
that  Chatterton  and  Rowley  are  one. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  discovered  anj^thing  worth 
printing  in  the  British  Museum,  Doubtless,  if  you  think  it  worth 
printing,  others  will  do  the  same,  and  it  is  not  our  fault,  if  it  be 
dull  or  an  imperfect  work.  I  transcribed  page  after  page  of 
what  would  have  been  worth  little  if  genuine,  and  not  being  gen- 
uine, is  worth  nothing.  This  refers  only  to  the  local  antiquities, 
and  false  deeds  of  gift,  <i:c.  I  made  a  catalogue,  and  left  it  with 
you.  Why  say, '  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it  amiss.'  I  am  as  ready 
to  thank  you  for  supplying  any  negligence  of  mine,  as  any  one 
else  can  be.  I  should  have  wished  for  more  enofravino-s,  but  we 
have  gone  to  the  bounds  of  expense  and  trouble,  in  this  gratuitous, 
but  pleasant  effort  to  benefit  the  family  of  Bristol's  most  illustri- 
ous bard.  Why  did  you  not  sign  your  notes  ?  I  can  now  only 
say,  that  much,  indeed  most  of  the  trouble  has  devolved  on  you. 
J.  C.  at  the  end  of  each  note,  would  have  showed  how  much. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHED.  171 

I  have  seen  Catcott.*  Chatterton  had  written  to  Clayfield  that 
he  meant  to  destroy  himself.  Clayfield  called  on  Barrett  to  com- 
municate his  uneasiness  about  the  young  lad.  '  Stay,'  said  Bar- 
rett, '  and  hear  ^Yhat  he  will  say  to  me.'  Chatterton  was  sent  for. 
Barrett  talked  to  him  on  the  guilt  and  folly  of  suicide.  Chatter- 
ton denied  any  intention  of  the  kind,  or  any  conversation  to  that 
import.  Clayfield  came  from  the  closet  with  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
and  asked,  '  Is  not  this  your  hand-writing  ?'  Chatterton  then, 
in  a  state  of  confusion,  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  heard  in  sullen 
silence,  the  suitable  remarks  on  his  conduct.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

'^Bristol,  Sept.,  1802. 
Dear  Cottle, 

I  was  from  home,  looking  out  for  a  habitationf  in  Wales,  when 

*  By  comparing  jMr.  Catcott's  copy  with  the  original,  it  appeared  that  Mr. 
C.  had  very  generally  altered  the  orthography,  so  as  to  give  the  appearance 
of  greater  antiquity,  as  '  lette  '  for  '  let,'  and  '  onne '  for  '  on,'  &c. 

t  The  house  of  an  '  Ap  (son  of)  Griffiths,  ap  Jones,  ap  Owen,  ap  Thomas.' 
Some  of  the  old  Welsh  families  carry  their  Apping  pedigrees  dov^^n  to  Noah, 
when  the  progress  is  easy  to  Adam.  Mr.  Coleridge  noticed  how  little  diver- 
sity there  was  in  the  Welsh  names.  Thus  in  the  list  of  subscribers  to  '  Owen's 
Welsh  Dictionary,'  to  which  none  but  Welshmen  would  subscribe,  he  found  of 


The  letter  D, 

of  31 

names, 

21  were 

Davis  or  Davies. 

E, 

30 

16 

Evans. 

G, 

30 

two-thirds 

Griffiths. 

H, 

all 

Hughes  and  Howell. 

I, 

^^ 

all 

Jones. 

L,  all  Lloyds,  except  4  Lewises,  and  1  Llewellyn. 

M,  four-fiths  Morgans. 

O,  all  Owen. 

R^  all  Roberts,  or  Richards. 

T,  all  Thomases. 

V,  all  Vaughans. 

W,  64                  56  Williams. 

Mr.  Southey  felt  great  satisfaction  when  he  had  found  a  house  in  Wales 
that  exactly  suited  him.  It  was  half  way  up  one  of  the  Glamorganshire  moun- 
tains ;  well  wooded ;  the  immediate  scenery  fine ;  the  prospect  magnificent. 
The  rent  was  approved,  the  time  of  entrance  arranged,  when,  before  the  final 
settlement,  Mr.  S.  thoucrht,  on  a  second  survey,  that  a  small  additional  kitchen 


172  REMINISCENCES   OF 


your  letter  arrived.  My  journey  was  so  far  successful,  that  I  am 
in  treaty  for  a  house,  eight  miles  from  Neath,  in  the  mountains,  a 
lovely  spot,  exactly  such  as  will  suit  my  wishes."         *         * 

In  a  letter  received  from  Mr.  Southey,  Aug.  25,  1805,  he  says, 
"  I  have  neither  seen,  nor  heard,  of  *  Foster's  Essays ' ;  nor  do  I 
remember  to  have  heard  you  mention  him.  Certainly,  on  your 
recommendation,  I  shall  either  buy  or  borrow  the  work.  But  no 
new  book  ever  reaches  these  mountains,  except  such  as  come  to 
me  to  be  killed  off." 

Mr.  Southey  mentioned  to  me  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  the 
jeopardy  in  which  he  had  recently  been  placed,  through  his 
'  killing  off  * ;  and  from  which  danger  he  was  alone  saved  by  his 
anonymous  garb.  He  said  he  had  found  it  necessary  in  reviewing 
a  book,  written  by  a  native  of  the  emerald  isle,  to  treat  it  with 
rather  unwonted  severity,  such  as  it  richly  deserved.  A  few  days 
after  the  critique  had  appeared,  he  happened  to  call  on  a  literary 
friend,  in  one  of  the  inns  of  court.  They  were  conversing  on  this 
work,  and  the  incompetence  of  the  writer,  when  the  author,  a 
gigantic  Irishman,  entered  the  room,  in  a  great  rage,  vowing  ven- 
geance against  the  remorseless  critic.  Standing  very  near  Mr. 
Southey,  he  raised  his  huge  list,  and  exclaimed,  "  And,  if  I  knew 
who  it  was,  I'd  bate  him!  "  Mr.  S.  observed  a  very  profound 
silence,  and  not  liking  the  vicinity  of  a  volcano,  quietly  retired, 
reserving  his  laugh  for  a  less  hazardous  occasion. 

Mr.  Southey  in  a  letter,  June  18,  1807,  thus  expresses  himself. 
^h  %  %  a  Beyond  the  fascinations  of  poetry,  there  is  a  calmer 
and  steadier  pleasure  in  acquiring  and  communicating  the  knowl- 
edge of  what  has  been  and  of  what  is.  I  am  passionately  fond 
of  history,  even  when  I  have  been  delighted  with  the  act  of  poet- 
ical composition.  The  recollection  that  all  was  fable  in  the  story 
with  which  I  have  exerted  myself,  frequently  mingled  with  the  de- 
light.    I  am  better  pleased  in  rendering  justice  to  the  mighty 

was  essential  to  the  comfort  of  the  house,  and  required  it  of  the  proprietor, 
preparatory  to  his  taking  a  lease.  To  so  reasonable  a  request  the  honest 
Welshman  stoutly  objected ;  and  on  this  slight  occurrence,  depended  whether 
the  Laureat  should  take  up,  perhaps,  his  permanent  residence  in  the  Princi- 
pality, or  wend  his  way  northward,  and  spend  the  last  thirty  years  of  his  life 
in  sight  of  Skiddaw. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.   SOUTHEY.  173 


dead ;  witli  the  holding  up  to  the  world,  of  kings,  conquerors, 
heroes,  and  saints,  not  as  they  have  been  usually  held  up,  but  as 
they  really  are,  good  or  evil,  according  to  the  opinion  formed  of 
them,  by  one  who  has  neither  passion,  prejudice,  nor  interest,  of 
any  kind  to  mislead  his  mind. 

There  is  a  delight  in  recording  great  actions,  and  though  of  a 
different  kind,  in  execrating  bad  ones,  beyond  anything  which 
Poetry  can  give,  when  it  departs  from  historical  truth.  There  is 
also  a  sense  of  power,  even  beyond  what  the  poet,  creator  as  he 
is,  can  exercise.  It  is  before  my  earthly  tribunal,  that  these  mighty 
ones  are  brought  for  judgment.  Centuries  of  applause,  trophies, 
and  altars,  or  canonizations,  or  excommunications,  avail  nothing 
with  me.  No  former  sentences  are  cognizable  in  my  court.  The 
merits  of  the  case  are  all  I  look  to,  and  I  believe  I  have  never 
failed  to  judge  of  the  actions  by  themselves,  and  of  the  actor  by 
his  motives  ;  and  to  allow  manners,  opinions,  circumstances,  &c., 
their  full  weight  in  extenuation.  What  other  merit  my  historical 
works  may  have,  others  must  find  out  for  themselves,  but  this  will 
I  vouch  for,  that  never  was  the  heart  of  any  historian  fuller  of 
purer  opinions ;  and  that  never  any  one  went  about  his  work  with 
more  thorough  industry,  or  more  thorough  good-will. 

Your  account  of  Churchey  is  very  amusing,  I  should  like  to  see 
the  pamphlet  of  Avhich  you  speak."^     God  bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

*  Wm.  Churchey  was  a  very  honest  worthy  lawyer,  of  Brecon,  who  unfor- 
tunately adopted  the  notion  that  he  was  a  poet,  and  to  substantiate  his  claim 
published  the  most  remarkable  book  the  world  ever  saw !  '  It  was  a  poem 
called  '  Joseph,'  with  other  poems,  in  4to,  and  of  a  magnitude  really  awful !  a 
mountain  among  the  puny  race  of  modern  books.  The  only  copy  I  ever  saw 
was  at  an  old  book  stall,  and  I  hav?  regretted  that  I  did  jiot  purchase  it,  and 
get  some  stout  porter  to  carry  it  home.  Wm.  Churchey  was  a  friend  of  John 
Wesley.  His  prodigious  4to  was  published  by  subscription,  and  given  away 
at  the  paltry  sum  of  one  guinea.  I  have  an  autograph  letter  of  John  Wesley, 
io  his  friend  Churchey,  in  which  he  says, 

"  My  Dear  brother, 

*  *  *  I  have  procured  one  hundred  guineas,  and  hope  to  procure 
fifty  more.  John  Wesley." 

Mr.  Churchey's  pamphlet  is  thus  entitled, ''  An  Apology,  by  Wm.  Churchey, 


174  REMINISCENCES   OF 

''  KesAvick,  March  16,  1810. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  cannot  express  to  you  how  much  it  has  affected  me  to  hear 
of  your  affliction,  [a  long  continued  inflamation  of  the  eyes,  sub- 
dued ultimately,  after  bleeding,  blistering,  and  cupping,  by  Sin- 
gleton's eye  ointment,]  for  though  I  am  sure  there  is  no  one  A*ho 
would  bear  any  sufferings  with  which  it  should  please  God  to  visit 
him,  more  patiently  and  serenely,  than  yourself,  this  nevertheless, 
is  an  affliction  of  the  heaviest  kind.  It  is  very  far  from  being  the 
habit  of  my  mind  to  indulge  in  visionary  hopes,  but  from  what  I 

for  his  public  appearance  as  a  Poet.  Printed  at  Trevecca,  Breconshire,  by 
Hughes  and  Co.,  1805 ;  and  sold  by  the  author,  at  Brecon,  price  6d." 

The  first  paragraph  in  the  '  Apology,'  begins  thus,  the  italics  the  author's 
own. 

"  The  author  has  been  ostracised  from  Parnassus  by  some  tribe  of  the 
critics  on  his  former  work  of  Weight,  if  not  Merit,  one  set  of  whom — the 
most  ancient,  the  wisest  of  them  all — condemned  it  in  the  lump.  A  whole 
volume  of  ten  thousand  lines,  in  07ie  paragraph  of  their  Monthly  Catalogue, 
for  which  they  were  paid — "nothing !  without  quoting  one  line  !  Whereas  a 
<core  (.')  out  of  some  idle  somiet,  or  some  wire-drawn  Cibberian  ode,  shall  te 
Jield  up  out  of  the  mud  with  a  placid  grin  of  applause.  The  author  has  for- 
given them,  and  keeps,  therefore,  the  name  of  their  pamphlet  in  the  back 
ground,  in  the  charitable  hope  of  their  having  fifteen  years  ago,  repented  of 
that  injustice.''  This  ponderous  work  however,  to  which  the  author  alludes, 
was  his  '  Poems  and  Imitations  of  the  British  Poets,  in  one  large  vol.  in  4to. 
price  only  £1  Is.  on  excellent  paper  and  print !  The  same  price  as  even  '  Jef- 
frey Gambado's  Gambol  of  Horsemanship^  went  off  as  current,  at  the  same 
time.     He  out-jockeyed  me  ;  I  always  was  a  bad  Horseman."  (fee,  &c. 

As  illustrating  one  of  the  extreme  points  of  human  nature,  I  may  casually 
mention  that  after  Mr.  Churchey's  death,  which  soon  succeeded  the  issuing  of 
liis  '  Apology,'  from  understanding  that  his  widow  was  in  straitened  circum- 
stances, and  meeting  with  a  gentleman  who  was  going  to  Brecon,  I  requested 
the  favor  of  him  to  convey  her  a  guinea,  as  a  small  present.  A  week  after,  I 
received  a  letter  from  the  widow,  thankin^me  for  my  kind  remembrance,  but 

she  said  that  she  was  not  benefited  by  it,  as  Mr. said  to  her,  '  This  is 

a  guinea  sent  to  you  from  Mr.  Cottle,  of  Bristol,  but  as  your  husband  owed  me 
money,  I  shall  carry  it  to  the  credit  of  his  account ;'  when,  buttoning  his 
pocket,  he  walked  away.'  I  immediately  sent  another  guinea,  and  requested 
her  not  to  name  so  disreputable  an  action,  in  one,  from  whom  I  had  hoped 
better  conduct.  This  gentleman,  till  the  period  of  his  death,  twenty  years 
after,  always  shunned  me  !  At  the  time  the  abstraction  took  place,  he  was  a 
wealthy  man,  and  kept  his  carriage  ;  but  from  that  time  he  declined  in  pros- 
perity, and  died  in  indigence. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  173 

recollect  of  the  nature  of  your  complaint,  it  is  an  inveterate 
inflammation,  and  this  I  believe  to  be  completely  withm  the  reach 
of  art."     '-     '^ 

In  the  year  1814,  after  an  hemorrhage  from  the  lungs,  and 
consequent  debility,  I  relieved  my  mind  by  writing  a  kind,  serious 
and  faithful  letter  to  my  friend  Southey,  under  an  apprehension 
that  it  might  be  my  last ;  to  which  Mr.  Southey  returned  the  fol- 
lowing reply. 

-'Keswick,  May  13,  1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  seen  so  dreadful  a  case  of  hemorrhao^e  from  the  lun^s 
terminate  favorably,  that  your  letter  alarms  me  less  than  other- 
wise it  would  have  done.  Basil  Montague  the  younger,  contin- 
ued to  bleed  at  intervals  for  six  weeks,  in  January  and  Feb- 
ruary last,  and  he  has  this  day  left  Keswick  without  any  danger- 
ous symptoms  remaining  upon  him.  Two  other  instances  have 
occurred  witliin  my  knowledge  ;  I  will  therefore  hope  for  a  favor- 
able termination.  Your  letter  comes  upon  me  w^hen  I  am  like  a 
broken  reed,  so  deeply  has  the  loss  of  Dan  vers  wounded  me. 
Were  I  to  lose  you  also,  I  should  never  have  heart  to  visit  Bristol 
again. 

What  answer  shall  I  make  to  your  exhortations  ?  We  differ, 
if  indeed  there  be  a  difference,  more  in  appearance  than  reality  ; 
more  in  the  form  than  in  the  substance  of  our  belief.  I  have  al- 
ready so  many  friends  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave,  that  a  large 
portion  of  my  thoughts  and  affections  are  in  another  world,  and 
it  is  only  the  certainty  of  another  life,  which  could  make  the 
changes  and  insecurity  of  this  life  endurable.  May  God  bless 
you,  and  restore  you,  my  dear  old  friend,  is  the  sincere  prayer  of 

Your  affectionate 

Robert  Southey." 

In  the  yea*  1816,  Mr.  Southey  sustained  a  great  loss  in  the 
death  of  his  youngest  son,  a  boy  of  promising  talent,  and  endued 
with  every  quality  which  could  attach  a  father's  heart.  Mr.  S. 
thus  announced  the  melancholy  tidings. 


176  REMINISCENCES   OF 

"Keswick,  May  23,  1816. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  know  not  whether  the  papers  may  have  informed  you  of  the 
severe  affliction  Avith  which  we  have  been  visited, — the  death  of, 
my  son  ;  a  boy  wlio  was  in  all  things  after  my  own  heart.  You 
will  be  gratified  to  hear,  however,  that  this  sorrow  produces  in 
both  our  cases,  that  beneficial  purpose  for  which  such  visitations 
were  appointed  .  and  in  subtracting  so  large  a  portion  of  our 
earthly  happiness,  fixes  our  hearts  and  hopes  with  more  earnest- 
ness on  the  life  to  come.  Nothing  else,  I  am  well  assured,  could 
have  supported  me,  though  I  have  no  ordinary  share  of  fortitude. 
I  know  where  to  look  for  consolation,  and  am  finding  it  where  only 
it  can  be  found.  My  dear  Cottle,  the  instability  of  human  prospects 
and  enjoyments  !  You  have  read  ni}^  poem  to  the  *  Pilgrimage,'  and 
before  the  book  was  published,  the  child  of  whom  I  had  thus  spo- 
ken, with  such  heartfelt  delight,  was  in  his  grave  !  But  of  this 
enough.  We  have  many  blessings  left,  abundant  all,  and  of  this, 
which  was  indeed  the  flower  of  all  our  blessings,  we  are  deprived 
for  a  time,  and  that  time  must  needs  be  short."     --^     *     * 

In  the  year  1817,  Mr.  Southey's  juvenile  drama  of  "  Wat  Tyler," 
was  surreptitiously  published  ;  written  during  the  few  months  of 
his  political  excitement,  when  the  specious  pretensions  of  the 
French,  carried  away  for  a  brief  period,  so  many  young  and  ardent 
minds.     He  thus  noticed  the  circumstance. 

• 
''  My  dear  Cottle, 

You  will  have  seen  by  the  papers  that  some  villain,  after  an 
interval  of  three  and  twenty  years,  has  published  my  old  uncle, 
*  Wat  Tyler.'  I  have  failed  in  attempting  to  obtain  an  injunction, 
because  a  false  oath  has  been  taken,  for  the  purpose  of  defeating 
me.    ^     ^     * 

I  am  glad  to  see,  and  you  will  be  very  glad  to  hear,  that  this 
business  has  called  forth  Colei'idge,  and  with  the  recollections  of 
old  times,  brought  back  something  like  old  feelings.  He  wrote  a 
very  excellent  paper  on  the  subject  in  the  '  Courier,'  and  I  hope 
it  will  be  the  means  of  his  rejoining  us  ere  long  ;  so  good  will 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  177 

come  out  of  eviL  and  the  devil   can   do  nothing   but  what  he  is 
permitted.* 

I  am  well  in  health,  and  as  little  annoyed  by  this  rascality  as  it 
becomes  me  to  be.  The  only  thing  that  has  vexed  me,  is  the 
manner  in  which  my  counsel  is  represented  in  talking  about  my 
being  ashamed  of  the  work  as  a  wicked  performance !  Wicked  ! 
My  poor  '  old  uncle'  has  nothing  wicked  about  him.  It  was  the 
work  of  a  right-honest  enthusiast,  as  you  can  bear  witness  ;  of  one 
who  was  as  upright  in  his  youth  as  he  has  been  in  his  manhood, 
and  is  now  in  the  decline  of  his  life  ;  who,  blessed  be  God,  has 
little  to  be  ashamed  before  man,  of  any  of  his  thoughts,  words,  or 
actions,  Avhatever  cause  he  may  have  for  saying  to  his  Maker, 
^  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.'  God  bless  you,  my  old  and 
affectionate  friend, 

Robert  Southey. 

I  am  writing  a  pamphlet,  in  the  form  of  a  letter,  to  Wm. 
Smith.  Fear  not,  but  that  I  shall  make  my  own  cause  good,  and 
set  my  foot  on  my  enemies.  This  has  been  a  wicked  transac- 
tion. It  can  do  me  no  other  harm  than  the  expense  to  which  it 
has  put  me." 

'*  Keswick,  Sept.  2,  1817. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  "^  "^  I  have  made  a  long  journey  on  the  continent, 
accompanied  with  a  friend  of  my  own  age,  and  with  Mr.  Nash, 
the  architect,  who  gave  me  the  drawings  of  Waterloo.     We  went 

*  In  a  letter  sent  to  me  by  Mr.  Foster,  dated  June  2*2, 1843,  he  thus  explains 
the  mysterious  circumstances,  relating  to  the  publication  of"  Wat  Tyler." 

"  My  dear  sir, 

*  *  *  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Southey  ever  did  get  at  the  secret  history 
of  that  affair.  The  story  as  I  heard  it  was,  that  Southey  visited  Winterbot- 
tom  in  prison,  and  just  as  a  token  of  kindness,  gave  him  the  MS.  of  '  Wat 
Tyler.'  It  was  no  fault  of  Winterbottom  that  it  was  published.  On  a  visit  to 
some  friends  at  Worcester,  he  had  the  piece  w^ith  him  ;  meaning  I  suppose,  to 
afford  them  a  little  amusement  at  Southey's  expense,  he  being  held  in  great 
reproach,  even  contempt,  as  a  turn-coat.  At  the  house  where  Winterbottom 
was  visiting,  two  persons,  keeping  the  piece  in  their  reach  at  bed-time,  sat  up 
all  night  transcribing  it,  of  course  giving  him  no  hint  of  the  manoeuvre.  This 
information  I  had  from  one  of  the  two  operators."         *         *         * 

8* 


178  REMINISCENCES   OF 


by  way  of  Paris  to  Besangon,  into  Switzerland  :  visited  the  Grand 
Cliartreuse,  crossed  Mont  Cenis  ;  proceeded  to  Turin,  and  Milan, 
and  then  turned  back  by  the  lakes  Como,  Lugano,  and  Maggiore, 
and  over  the  Siraplon.  Our  next  business  was  to  see  the  moun- 
tainous parts  of  Switzerland.  From  Bern  we  sent  our  carriage 
to  Zurich,  and  struck  off  what  is  called  the  Oberland  (upper-land.) 
After  ten  days  spent  thus,  in  the  finest  part  of  the  country,  we 
rejoined  our  carriage,  and  returned  through  the  Black  Forest. 
The  most  interesting  parts  of  our  homeward  road  were  Danaus- 
trugen,  where  the  Danube  rises.  Friburg,  Strasburg,  Baden, 
Carlsruhe,  Heidelburg,  Manheim,  Frankfort,  Mentz,  Cologne,  and 
by  Brussels  and  Lisle,  to  Calais. 

I  kept  a  full  journal,  Avhich  might  easily  be  made  into  an  amus- 
ing and  useful  volume,  but  I  have  no  leisure  for  it.  You  may 
well  suppose  what  an  accumulation  of  business  is  on  my  hands 
after  so  long  an  absence  of  four  months.  I  have  derived  great 
advantage  both  in  knowledge  and  health.  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  Cottle. 

Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey. 

P.  S. — Hartley  Coleridge  has  done  himself  great  credit  at  Ox- 
ford. He  has  taken  what  is  called  a  second  class,  which,  con- 
sidering the  disadvantages  of  his  school  education,  is  as  honorable 
for  him  as  a  first  class  for  anybody  else.  In  all  the  higher  points 
of  his  examination,  he  was  excellent,  and  inferior  only  in  those 
minuter  points,  wherein  he  had  not  been  instructed.  He  is  on  the 
point  of  taking  his  degree." 

"Keswick,  Nov.  26,  1819. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Last  night  I  received  a  letter  from  Charles  Lamb,  telling  me  to 
what  a  miserable  condition  poor  John  Morgan  is  reduced  ;  not  by 
any  extravagance  of  his  own,  but  by  a  thoughtless  generosity,  in 

lending  to  men  who  have  never  repaid  him,  and  by ,  who 

has  involved  him  in  his  own  ruin  ;  and  lastly  by  the  visitation  of 
providence.     Everything  is  gone  ! 

In  such  a  case,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  '  but  to  raise  some  poor 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  179 


annuity  amongst  his  friends.'  It  is  not  likely  to  be  wanted  long. 
He  has  an  hereditary  disposition  to  a  liver  complaint,  a  disease  of 
all  others,  induced  by  distress  of  mind,  and  he  feels  the  whole 
bitterness  of  his  situation.  The  palsy  generally  comes  back  to 
finish  what  it  has  begun.  Lamb  will  give  ten  pounds  a  year.  I 
will  do  the  same,  and  we  both  do  according  to  our  means,  rather 
than  our  will.  I  have  written  to  Michael  Castle  to  exert  himself ; 
and  if  you  know  where  his  friend  Porter  is,  I  pray  you  communi- 
cate this  information  to  him.  We  will  try  what  can  be  done  in 
other  quarters."^  *  ^  -^' 

''Keswick,  June  25,  1823. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  ^  ^^  I  must  finish  my  '  Book  of  the  Church.'  Un- 
der this  title  a  sketch  of  our  ecclesiastical  history  is  designed. 
One  small  volume  was  intended,  and  behold  it  will  form  two  8vos. 
The  object  of  the  book  is,  to  give  those  who  come  after  us  a 
proper  bias,  by  making  them  feel  and  understand,  how  much  .they 
owe  to  the  religious  institutions  of  their  country. 

Besides  this,  I  have  other  works  in  hand,  and  few  things  would 
give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  show  you  their  state  of  progress, 
and  the  preparations  I  have  made  for  them.  If  you  would  bring 
your  sister  to  pass  a  summer  with  us,  how  joyfully  and  heartily 
you  would  be  welcomed,  I  trust  you  both  well  know.  Our  friend- 
ship is  now  of  nine  and  twenty  years'  standing,  and  I  will  venture 
to  say,  for  you,  or  for  us,  life  cannot  have  many  gratifications  in 

*  Poor  John  Morgan  was  the  only  child  of  a  retired  spirit  merchant  of 
Bristol,  who  left  him  a  handsome  independence.  He  was  a  worthy  kind- 
hearted  man,  possessed  of  more  than  an  average  of  reading  and  good  sense  ; 
generally  respected,  and  of  unpresuming  manners.  He  was  a  great  friend 
and  admirer  of  Mr.  Coleridge ;  deploring  his  habits,  and  laboring  to  correct 
them.  Except  Mr.  Gillman  there  was  no  individual,  with  whom  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge lived  gratuitously  so  much,  during  Mr.  M.'s  residence  in  London,  ex- 
lending  to  a  domestication  of  several  years.  When  Mr.  Morgan  removed  to 
Calne,  in  Wiltshire,  for  a  long  time,  he  gave  Mr.  C.  an  asylum,  and  till  his 
affairs,  through  the  treachery  of  others,  became  involved,  Mr.  Coleridge, 
through  him,  never  wanted  a  home.  That  so  worthy,  and  generous  a  minded 
man  should  have  been  thus  reduced,  or  rather  ruined  in  his  circumstances, 
was  much  deplored  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  marked  the  instability  of  hu- 
man possessions  and  prospects,  often  little  expected  by  industrious  parents. 


180  REMINISCENCES    OF 


store  greater  than  this  would  prove.  Here  are  ponies  accustomed 
to  climb  these  mountains  which  will  carry  you  to  the  summit  of 
Skiddaw,  without  the  slightest  difficulty,  or  danger.  And  here  is 
my  boat,  the  '  Royal  Noah,'  in  the  lake,  in  which  you  may  exer- 
cise your  arms  when  you  like.  Within  and  without  I  have  much 
to  show  you.  You  would  like  to  see  my  children ;  from  Edith 
May,  who  is  taller  than  her  mother,  down  to  Cuthbert,  who  was 
four  years  old  in  February  last.  Tlien  there  are  my  books,  of 
Avhich  I  am  as  proud  as  you  are  of  your  bones. "^  They  are  not 
indeed  quite  so  old,  but  then  they  are  more  numerous,  and  I  am 
sure  Miss  C.  will  agree  with  me  that  they  are  much  better  furni- 
ture and  much  pleasanter  companions. 

Not  that  I  mean  to  depreciate  your  fossil  remains.  Forbid  it  all 
that  is  venerable.  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  your  account 
of  them.  You  gave  me  credit  for  more  than  is  my  due,  when 
you  surmised  that  the  paper  in  the  QuarteHy,  (on  the  presumed 
alteration  in  the  plane  of  the  ecliptic,)  might  have  been  mine.  I 
wri^e  on  no  subject  on  which  I  have  not  bestowed  considerable 
time  and  thought ;  and  on  all  points  of  science,  I  confess  myself 
to  be  either  very  superficially  informed,  or  altogether  ignorant. 
Some  day  I  will  send  you  a  list  of  all  my  papers  in  that  journal, 
that  you  may  not  impute  to  me  anything  which  is  not  mine ;  and 
that,  if  you  have  any  time  such  a  desire,  you  may  see  what  the 
opinions  are  that  I  have  there  advanced.  Very  few  I  believe  in 
which  you  would  not  entirely  accord  with  me.  God  bless  you. 
Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

^'Keswick,  April  7,  1825. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

You  have  indeed  had  a  severe  loss,f  one  of  those  which  I  know 

*  A  large  collection  of  animal  bones,  many  of  them  in  a  fossil  state,  con- 
sisting of  the  jaws  and  other  bones,  of  tigers,  hyenas,  wolves,  foxes,  the 
horse,  the  bos,  &c.,  the  whole  obtained  by  me,  in  the  year  1822,  from  the 
Oreston  caves,  near  Plymouth.  The  number  of  bones  amounted  to  nearly 
two  thousand.  Many  of  the  specimens  were  lent  to  Professor  Buckland,  to 
get  engraved,  for  a  new  geological  work  of  his.  The  major  part  of  the  collec- 
tion I  presented  to  the  Bristol  Philosophical  Institution. 

t  The  decease  of  the  remarkable  young  lady.  Sarah  Saunders,  my  niece,  to 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOIJTHEY.  181 


not  how  the  heart  could  bear,  if  it  were  not  for  the  prospect  of 
eternity,  and  the  full  sense  of  the  comparative  nothingness  of  time, 
which  that  prospect  produces.  If  I  look  on  the  last  thirty  years, 
things  seem  as  but  yesterday  ;  and  when  I  look  forward,  the  end 
of  this  mortal  journey  must  be  near,  though  the  precise  point 
where  it  will  terminate  is  not  in  sight.  Yet,  were  you  under  my 
roof,  as  I  live  in  hope  that  one  day  you  will  be,  you  would  recog- 
nize just  as  much  of  the  original  Robert  Southey  as  you  would 
wish  to'  see  remaining  ; — though  the  body  is  somewhat  the  worse 
for  wear. 

I  thought  I  had  written  to  thank  you  for  your  '  Strictures  on 
tlie  Plymouth  Antinomians,'  which  were  w^ell  deserved,  and  given 
in  a  very  proper  spirit.  Ultra- Calvinism  is  as  little  to  my  liking 
as  it  is  to  yours.  It  may  be,  and  no  doubt  is  held  by  many  good 
men,  upon  whom  it  produces  no  worse  effects  than  that  of  narrow- 
ing charity.  But  Dr.  Hawker,  and  such  as  the  Hawkers,  only 
push  it  to  its  legitimate  consequences. 

At  present,  I  am  engaged  in  a  war  with  the  Roman  Catho- 
hcs,  a  war  in  which  there  w411  be  much  ink  shed,  though  not  on 
my  part,  for  when  my  '  Vindiciae '  are  finished,  I  shall  leave  the 
field.  When  you  see  that  book,  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  ex- 
posure of  sophistries,  disengenuousness,  and  downright  falsehoods, 
which  it  will  lay  before  the  world  ;  and  you  w^ll  see  the  charge 
of  systematic  imposture  proved  upon  the  papal  church. 

I  must  leave  my  home  by  the  middle  of  next  month,  and  travel 
for  some  weeks,  in  the  hope  of  escaping  an  annual  visitation  of  Ca- 
tarrh, which  now  always  leaves  cough  behind  it,  and  a  rather 
threatening  hold  of  the  chest.  I  am  going  therefore  to  Holland, 
to  see  that  country,  and  to  look  for  certain  ecclesiastical  books, 
which  I  shall  be  likely  to  obtain  at  Brussels,  or  Antwerp,  or  on 
the  way  thither. 

A  young  friend,  in  the  Colonial  office,  is  to  be  one  of  my  com- 
panions, and  I  expect  that  Neville  White  will  be  the  other.  It  is 
a  great  effort  to  go  from  home  at  any  time,  and  a  great  inconve- 
nience, considering  the  interruption  which  my  pursuits  must  suffer ; 
still  it  is  a  matter  of  duty  and  of  economy  to  use  every  means  for 

whom  the  late  Mr.  Foster  addresssd  a  series  of  letters,  during  her  illness. 
These  letters  are  printed  in  Mr.  F.'s.  "  Life  and  Correspondence." 


18'J  REMINISCENCES    OF 

averting  illness.     If  I  can  send  home  one  or  two  chests  of  books, 
the  pleasure  of  receiving  them  on  my  return  is  worth  some  cost. 

How  you  would  like  to  see  my  library,  and  to  recognize  among 
them  some  volimies  as  having  been  the  gift  of  Joseph  Cottle, 
seven  or  eight  and  twenty  years  ago.  I  have  a  great  many  thou- 
sand volumes,  of  all  sorts,  sizes,  languages,  and  kinds,  upon  all 
subjects,  and  in  all  sorts  of  trims  ;  from  those  which  are  displayed 
in  '  Peacock  Place,'  to  the  ragged  inhabitants  of  *  Duck  Row.* 
The  room  in  which  I  am  now  writing  contains  two  thousand  four 
hundred  volumes,  all  in  good  apparel ;  many  of  them  of  singular 
rarity  and  value.  I  have  another  room  full,  and  a  passage  full ; 
book- cases  in  both  landing  places,  and  from  six  to  seven  hundred 
volumes  in  my  bedroom.  You  have  never  seen  a  more  cheerful 
room  than  my  study  ;  this  workshop,  from  which  so  many  works 
have  proceeded,  and  in  which  among  other  things,  I  have  written 
all  those  papers  of  mine,  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  whereof  you 
have  a  list  below. ^' 

*  LIST    OF    ARTICLES    WRITTEN   BY    ROBERT    SOUTHEY  IN  THE    aUARTERLY   RE- 
VIEW, TO   APRIL,  1825. 

No.  No. 

1  Baptist  Mission  in  India  21  Nicobar  Islands 

2  Portuguese  Literature  —  Montgomery's  World  before  the 

3  South  Sea  Missions  Flood 

—  Lord  Valcntia's  Travels  22  23  British  Poets 

4  American  Annals  23  Oriental  Memoirs 

5  Life  of  Nelson  24  Lewis  and  Clark's  Travels 

6  Season  at  Tongataboo  —  Barre  Roberts 

—  Graham's  Georgics  25  Miot's  Expedition  to  Egypt 

7  Observador  Portuguez  25  Life  of  Wellington 

8  Feroe  Islands  26     do.  do. 

—  On  the  Evangelical  Sects  28  Alfieri 

11  Bell  and  Lancaster  29  Me.  La  Roche  Jacqueline 

12  The  Inquisition  —  The  Poor 

—  Montgomery's  Poems  30  Ali  Bey's  Travels 

13  Iceland  —  Foreign  Travellers  in  England 

14  French  Revolutionists  31   Parliamentary  Reform 

15  Count  Julian  32  Porter's  Travels 

—  Calamities  of  Authors  —  Rise  and  Progress  of  Disaffection 

16  Manufacturing  system  and  the         33  Tonga  Islands 

Poor  35  Lope  de  Vega 

19  Bogue  and   Bennett's  History         37  Evelyn  on  the  means  of  Im- 
of  the  Dissenters  proving  the  People. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  183 

The  next  month  will  have  a  paper  of  mine  on  the  '  Church  Mis- 
sionary Society,'  and  the  one  after,  upon  the  'Memoir  of  the 
Chevalier  Bayard,'  which  Sarah  Coleridge,  daughter  of  S.  T.  Cole- 
ridge, has  translated. 

Write  to  me  oftener,  as  your  letters  will  always  have  a*reply, 
let  whose  may  go  imanswered.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  old 
friend. 

Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

"Keswick,  Feb.  26,  1826. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  sent  you  my  Vindication  of  the  *  Book  of  the  Church,' 
in  which  though  scarcely  half  of  what  was  intended  to  be  com- 
prised, enough  is  done  to  prove  the  charge  of  superstition,  impos- 
tures, and  wickedness,  upon  the  Romish  Church.  Whether  I  shall 
pursue  the  subject,  in  that  form,  depends  on  circumstances.  I 
have  employment  enough  in  other  ways,  and  would  rather  present 
my  historical  recollections  in  any  form  than  that  of  controversy. 
Hi  %  %  rjij^^  revelations  of  sister  Nativity  are  mentioned 
in  my  '  Yindiciae.'  You  will  see  an  account  of  this  impious  Ro- 
mish imposture  in  the  next  Quarterly.  Such  an  exposure  ought 
to  open  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  duped  with  the  belief  that  the 
Roman  Catholic  religion  is  become  innocent  and  harmless. 

Have  I  written  to  you  since  I  was  bug-bitten  in  France,  and 

No.  No. 

M  Copy-Right  Act  53  Camoens 

42  Cemeteries  55  Gregorie's  Religious  Sects 

43  Monastic  Institutions  56  Infidelity 

45  Life  of  Marlborough  57  Burnett's  Own  Times 

46  New  Churches  59  Dwight's  Travels 
48  Life  of  Wm.  Huntington,  S.  S         62  Hayley 

50  Life  of  Cromwell  —  Mrs.  Baillie's  Lisbon 

52  Dobrizhoffer 

Mr.  Southey  expressed  an  intention  of  sending  me  a  list  of  all  his  remain- 
ing papers,  in  the  "  Quarterly,"  which  intention  was  not  fulfilled.  Presum- 
ing on  the  accuracy  of  the  present  list,  from  Mr.  S.  himself,  there  must  be 
some  mistakes  in  the  account  of  Mr.  Southey's  contributions,  as  stated  in  that 
old  and  valuable  periodical,  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  for  1844  and  1845. 


184  REMINISCENCES   OF 


laid  up  in  consequence,  under  a  surgeon's  hands  in  Holland  ? 
This  mishap  brought  with  it  much  more  immediate  good  than 
evil.  Bilderdyk,  whose  wife  translated  '  Don  Roderic  '  into  Dutch, 
and  who  is  himself  confessedly  the  best  poet,  and  the  most  learned 
man  jn  that  country,  received  me  into  his  house,  where  I  was 
nursed  for  three  weeks  by  two  of  the  very  best  people  in  the 
world.  But  the  effects  of  the  accident  remain.  On  my  way 
home,  owing  perhaps  to  the  intense  heat  of  the  weather,  erysipe- 
las showed  itself  on  the  wounded  part.  The  foot  also  has  been  in 
a  slight  degree  swollen,  and  there  is  just  enough  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness to  show  that  something  is  amiss.  My  last  year's  journey 
succeeded  in  cutting  short  the  annual  catarrh,  which  had  for  so 
many  years  laid  me  up  during  the  summer  months.  I  shall  try 
the  same  course  as  soon  as  the  next  summer  commences. 

Will  you  never  come  and  visit  me,  and  see  how  that  hair  looks, 
which  I  doubt  not  keeps  its  color  so  well  in  Vandyke's  portrait  ? 
now  it  is  three  parts  gray,  but  curling  still  as  strong  as  in  youth. 
I  look  at  your  portrait  every  day  and  see  you  to  the  life,  as  you 
were  thirty  years  ago !  What  a  change  should  we  see  in  each 
other  now,  and  yet  how  soon  should  we  find  that  the  better  part 
remains  unchanged. 

The  day  before  yesterday  I  received  your  two  volumes  of 
*  Malvern  Hills,  Poems,  and  Essays,'  fourth  edition,  forwarded  to 
me  from  Sheffield,  by  James  Montgomery.  You  ask  my  opinion 
on  your  ninth  essay  (on  the  supposed  alteration  in  the  planes  of 
the  equator  and  the  ecliptic  suggested  by  an  hypothesis  in  the 
Quarterly).  I  am  too  ignorant  to  form  one.  The  reasoning  seems 
conclusive,  taking  the  scientific  part  for  granted,  but  of  that 
science,  or  any  other,  I  know  nothing.  This  I  can  truly  say,  that 
the  essays  in  general  please  me  very  much.  That  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  those  concerning  Chatterton  introduced  there ; — and  very 
much  admire  the  manner,  and  the  feeling,  with  which  you  have 
treated  Psalmanazar's  story.  You  tell  me  things  respecting  Chat- 
terton wliich  were  new  to  me,  and  of  course  interested  me  much. 
It  may  -be  worth  while,  when  you  prepare  a  copy  for  repub- 
lication, to  corroborate  the  proof  of  liis  insanity,  by  stating  that 
there  was  a  constitutional  tendency  to  such  a  disease,  which 
places  the  fact  beyond  all  doubt.     *     *     * 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  185 


Thank  you,  for  the  pains  you  have  taken  about  *  Bunyan.'  The 
first  edition  we  cannot  find,  nor  even  ascertain  its  date.  The  first 
edition  of  the  Second  part  we  have  found.  An  impudent  asser- 
tion, I  learn  from  '  Montgomery's  Essay,'  was  pubhshed,  that  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress'  was  a  mere  translation  from  the  Dutch.  I 
have  had  the  Dutch  book,  and  have  read  it,  which  he  who  made  this 
assertion  could  not  do.  The  charge  of  plagiarism  is  utterly  false, 
not  havinp^  the  slightest  foundation.  When  you  and  I  meet  in  the 
next  world,  we  will  go  and  see  John  Bun3"an,  and  tell  him  how  I 
have  tinkered  the  fellow,  for  tinker  him  I  will,  avIio  has  endeavored 
to  pick  a  hole  in  his  reputation.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  old 
friend, 

Robert  Sou  they. 

P.  S.  There  are  two  dreams  that  may  be  said  to  haunt  me,  they 
recur  so  often.  The  one  is,  that  of  being  at  Westminster  school 
again,  and  not  having  my  books.  The  other  is,  that  I  am  at  Bris- 
tol, and  have  been  there  some  indefinite  time ;  and  unaccountably, 
have  never  been  to  look  for  you  in  Brunswick  Square,  for  vv  hich  I 
am  troubled  in  conscience.  Come  to  us,  and  I  will  pledge  myself 
to  visit  you  in  return  when  next  I  travel  to  the  south." 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Southey,  I  m.entioned  that  a  relation  of  Wm. 
Gilbert  had  informed  me  that  he  was  hurt  with  Mr.  S.  for  having 
named  him,  in  his  'Life  of  Wesley,'  as  being  tinctured  with  in- 
sanity; a  fact  notorious.  Mr.  G.  had  often  affirmed  that  there 
was  a  nation  of  the  Gilbertians  in  the  centre  of  Africa,  and  ex- 
pressed a  determination  of  one  day  visiting  them.  In  the  year 
1V96,  he  suddenly  left  Bristol,  without  speaking  to  any  one  of  his 
friends ;  and  the  inference  draAvn,  was  that  he  was  about  to  com- 
mence his  African  expedition.  I  had  also  mentioned  that  Sir 
James  Mackintosh  had  expressed  an  opinion  that  Mr.  Southey  had 
formed  his  style  on  the  model  of  Horace  Walpole.  These  prelim- 
inary remarks  are  necessary  to  the  understanding  of  the  following 

letter. 

« 

*' Keswick,  Feb.  26. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

What  you  say  about  poor  Gilbert  has  surprised  me.  You  know 
we  lost  sight  of  him  after  he  left  Bristol,  with,  according  to  our 


18o  REMINISCENCES    OF 

apprehension,  the  design  of  going  to  Liverpool,  and  from  thence  1 
to  procure  a  passage  to  Africa.     On  that  occasion,  after  consult- 
ing Avith  Danvers,  and  I  think  with  you,  I  wrote  to  Roscoe,  apolo-J 
gizing,  as  a  stranger,  for  the  liberty,  requesting  him  to  caution  any 
captain  of  a  ship,  bound  to  the  African  coast,  from  taking  a  per-1 
son  in  his  state  of  mind  on  board.    Roscoe  rephed  very  courteously, 
and  took  the  desired  precaution,  but   Gilbert  never  appeared  at 
Liverpool.     Some  tim^e  afterward  it  was  told  me  that  he  was  dead, 
and  believing  him  so  to  be,  I  mentioned  him  in  the  life  of  Wesley, 
(Vol.  2.  p.  467,)  speaking  of  him  as  I  had  ever  felt,  with  respect 
and  kindness,  but  in  a  way  which  I  should  not  have  done  if  I  had 
not  been  fully  persuaded  of  his  death. 

Mackintosh's  notice,  as  you  inform  me,  that  my  style  is  founded 
on  Horace  Walpole,  is  ridiculous.  It  is  founded  on  nobody's.  I 
say  what  I  have  to  say  as  plainly  as  I  can,  without  thinking  of 
the  style,  and  this  is  the  whole  secret.  I  could  tell  by  what  poets 
my  poetry  has  successively  been  leavened,  but  not  what  prose 
writers  have  ever  in  the  same  manner  influenced  me.  In  fact,  I 
write  as  you  may  always  have  remarked,  such  as  I  always  con- 
verse, without  effort,  and  without  aiming  at  display. 

^'         ^'         ^'  ^'  Poor  Llorgan,  you  know,  was  latterly 

supported  by  a  subscription,  which  Charles  Lamb  set  on  foot,  and 
which  was  to  have  been  annual,  but  he  died  within  the  year. 

Just  now  I  am  pressed  for  time  to  finish  the  *  Life  of  Cowper.* 
This  Life  will  interest  you,  not  merely  because  you  (I  know) 
would  read  with  partial  interest  anything  of  mine,  but  because 
many  circumstances  are  there  stated  which  have  never  before  been 
made  public. 

You  may  have  heard  that  a  new  edition  of  my  *  Life  of  Wesley' 
is  promised.  Such  an  accumulation  of  materials  has  been  poured 
upon  me  by  a  Mr.  Marriott,  well  known  among  the  Methodists, 
that  I  shall  have  to  add  a  fourth,  or  perhaps,  a  third  part  of  new 
matter,  besides  making  many  corrections  and  alterations.  I  have 
also  got  possession  of  the  remaining  papers  of  Mr.  Powley,  .who 
married  Miss  Unwin.  His  widow  died  last  year ;  and  thus  they 
became  accessible.  There  were  in  the  collection  a  good  many 
letters  of  Mr.  Newton,  whose  letters  to  Mr.  Thornton,  I  have  had  f 
before,  and  made  great  use  of  them  in  the   1st  vol.  of  Cowper 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUT^EY.  187 


From  these  papers  I  shall  -learn  much  concerning  the  first  pro- 
ceedings of  the  evangelical  clergy,  and  expect  to  collect  some 
materials  for  the  '  Biographical  Notes,'  AYhich  must  accompany 
'  Cowper's  Letters ;'  and  still  more  for  the  religious  history  of 
*  Wesley's  Times,'  as  connected  with  the  progress  of  Methodism. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend, 

Robert  Southey." 

"Keswick,  Nov.  4,  1828. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Shame  on  me  that  your  last  friendly  letter  should  have  remained 
so  long  unanswered,  and  that  the  direct  motive  for  writing  now 
should  be  a  selfish  one  ;  one,  however,  in  which  I  know  you  will 
take  some  interest,  on  more  accounts  than  one. 

Major,  in  Fleet  Street,  is  about  to  publish  an  edition  of  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  for  which  I  have  undertaken  to  write  an  in- 
troductory life  of  the  author.  You  need  not  be  told  how  dearly  I 
love  John  Bunyan.  'Now  he  has  made  inquiries  among  public  and 
private  libraries  for  the  first  edition,  and  can  nowhere  discover  a 
copy.  It  has  occurred  to  me  that  it  may  be  in  the  Bristol  Baptist 
Library,  and  if  you  will  make  this  inquiry  for  me,  and  in  case  it 
be  there,  ascertain  whether  it  difters  from  the  foho  edition  of  Bun- 
yan's  works,  you  will  do  me  a  great  kindness."^         *         ^         -^ 

*  Every  effort  was  made  by  me  both  by  advertising  and  inquiry  but  no 
tidings  of  the  first  edition  of  Bunyan  could  be  obtained  in  these  parts.  Very 
recently  I  learnt  that  the  first  edition  has  been  discovered,  and  that  the  partic- 
ulars might  be  learned  of  E.  B.  Underbill.  Esq.,  Newmarket  House,  near 
Nailsworth,  Gloucestershire.  Upon  my  writing  to  this  gentleman  he  politely 
favored  me  with  the  following  gratifying  reply. 

''  Feb.  27,  1847. 
Dear  Sir, 

In  answer  to  your  inquiry,  the  first  edition  of  the  first  part  of  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress  is  the  property  of  J.  S.  Holford,  Esq.,  a  gentleman  of  large  posses- 
sions in  this  county.  It  was  first  made  known  I  believe,  by  the  Art-Union, 
that  this  unique  volume  was  in  existence.  Some  time  last  summer  I  applied 
to  Mr.  H.  for  liberty  to  inspect  it,  and  if  agreeable  to  him,  to  reprint  it.  This 
he  at  once  most  liberally  granted,  and  at  the  request  of  the  council  of  the 
Hanserd  Knollys'  Society,  George  Offer,  Esq.,  one  of  our  members  undertook 
the  task  of  editor.  The  book  is  in  a  high  state  of  preservation  ;  both  the 
paper  and  binding  being  as  fresh  as  they  left  the  hands  of  the  binder.     Mr. 


188  REMINISCENCES   OP 


That  I  should  be  somewhat  the  worse  for  the  wear  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, but  I  am  not  more  so  than  you  would  look  to  see  me ; 
still  active,  cheerful,  with  a  good  appetite  for  books,  and  not  an 

Offer  has  most  Iciboriously  collated  it  with  subsequent  editions,  and  has  found 
many  curious  and  singular  discrepancies. 

I  remain,  yours  most  truTy, 
Jos.  Cottle.  Edwd.  B.  Underliill." 

In  this  publication  will  be  found  all  the  desired  information  on  this  interest- 
ing subject. 

liCtter  from  Mr.  Offer  to  Mr.  Cottle,  on  transmitting  to  him  Mr.  O.'s  corres- 
pondence with  Mr.  Southey,  relating  to  a  charge  of  Plagiarism  in  John 
Bunyan. 

"  Hackney,  March  6,  1847. 
Dear  Sir, 

Enclosed  I  send  you  copies  of  the  correspondence  relative  to  '  Bunyan's 
Pilgrim's  Progress,'  with  Mr.  Southey. 

About  the  year  1825,  two  gentlemen  called  to  see  my  book  rarities,  and 
among  them  a  copy  of '  Duyf ken's  ande  Willemynkyns  Pilgrimagee,'  with 
five  cuts  by  Bolswert,  published  at  Antwerp,  1627,  the  year  before  Bunyan's 
birth.  The  first  plate  represents  a  man  asleep — a  pilgrim  by  his  bed-side — in 
the  perspective  two  pilgrims  walking  together,  they  are  then  seen  on  the 
ground  by  some  water — in  the  extreme  distance  the  sun  setting.  Another 
plate  represents  the  two  pilgrims  in  a  fair.  Punch  and  Judy,  &c.  A  third,  one 
pilgrim  under  a  rock,  within  a  circle  of  candles,  a  magician  with  his  wand, 
smoke  and  demons  over  the  dismayed  pilgrim's  head.  A  fourth,  two  pilgrims 
ascending  a  steep  hill,  one  of  them  falling  head-long  down.  From  a  glance 
of  a  few  moments  at  this  curious  book,  there  shortly  afterwards  appeared  in 
a  newspaper  in  the  North,  an  account  of  Bunyan's  having  borrowed  some  of 
his  plot  from  this  work.  This  was  answered  by  Mr.  Montgomery,  and  others. 
Upon  Mr.  Southey  not  being  able  to  find  the  book,  when  he  had  undertaken 
to  write  the  '  Life  and  Times  of  Bunyan,'  he  addressed  a  letter  to  his  pub- 
lisher Mr.  Major,  in  which  he  sa3^s,  '  Can  3^ou  give  me  Mr.  Douce's  direction, 
that  I  may  ask  him  for  some  account  of  the  French  poem?  Cottle  refers  me 
to  '  Dunlop's  History  of  Fiction,'  for  an  account  of  a  German  book,  which  is 
of  the  same  character.  Bunyan  I  am  sure  knew  nothing  either  of  the  one  oi 
the  other.  If  the  allegory  was  not  an  extension  of  the  most  common  and  ob- 
vious of  all  similitudes — the  f^enii  of  it  might  be  found  in  his  own  works.' 
Major  asked  my  advice,  and  I  showed  him  the  book  and  gave  him  some  Httle 
account  of  it :  and  soon  after  I  received  from  Dr.  Southey  the  following 
letter. 

'  Keswick,  IG  April,  1829. 
Sir, — Mr.  Major  has  favored  me  with  your  account  of  the  Dutch  work  m 
your  possession,  which  in  many  parts  bears  a  remarkable  resemblance  to  the 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY".  189 

ill  one  for  work.     Some  things  I  shall  have  to  send  you  both  in 
prose  and  verse,  before  the  winter  passes  away.     ^     ^     *     ^ 
Remember  me  in  the  kindest  manner  to  ,  and  to , 

'  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  It  would  require  the  strongest  possible  evidence  to  con- 
vince me,  against  my  will,  that  Bunyan  is  not  an  original  writer.  The  book 
we  know  he  could  not  have  read  in  the  original :  and  if  there  had  been  a 
translation  of  it,  it  is  hardly  likely  that  it  should  have  remained  undiscovered 
till  this  time ;  it  being  almost  impossible  that  it  should  come  into  the  hands  of 
any  one  who  had  not  read  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  This  is  possible,  that  Bun- 
yan may  have  heard  an  account  of  the  book  from  some  Dutch  baptist  in  Eng- 
land, or  some  EngUsh  one  who  had  seen  it  in  Holland.  I  do  not  think  that 
his  obligations  to  it  can  have  been  more  than  this ;  but  of  this  I  can  better 
judge  when  I  have  perused  the  book,  which  my  knowledge  of  the  language 
enables  me  to  do,  if  you  favor  me  with  it. 

Great  men  have  sometimes  been  plagiarists  ;  a  grave  charge  of  this  kind  has 
recently  been  proved  upon  Lord  Bacon, — no  less  than  that  of  having  taken 
the  fundamental  principle  of  his  philosophy  from  his  namesake,  Roger,  and 
claimed  it  as  his  own.  Bunyan,  I  am  fully  persuaded,  was  too  honest  and  too 
righteous  a  man  to  be  guilty  of  any  such  baseness.  He  was  in  a  beaten  path 
of  Allegory, — a  name,  a  hint  he  may  have  taken,  but  I  think  nothing  more. 
You  will  judge  from  this,  sir,  how  very  far  from  my  intentions  or  inchnation, 
it  would  be,  in  the  slightest  respect,  to  depreciate  John  Bunyan,  whose  book 
I  have  loved  from  my  childhood.  And  whatever  his  obligations  to  the  Dutch- 
man may  have  been,  if  any  there  should  prove  to  be,  it  is  surely  better  that 
they  should  be  stated  by  one  who  loves  and  honors  his  memory,  than  brought 
forward  hereafter  by  some  person  in  a  different  spirit ;  for  nothing  of  this  kind 
can  long  escape  discovery  now.  My  present  persuasion  is,  that  he  owes  no- 
tliing  to  it  directly.  Something  perhaps,  indirectly,  but  not  much.  And  I 
promise  you  that  I  will  do  him  no  wrong. 

Should  you  favor  me  by  intrusting  me  with  the  book,  I  shall  of  course  make 
due  mention  of  the  obligation  you  have  conferred. 

I  remain,  sir,  yours  with  respect, 

To  George  Offer,  Esq.  Robert  Southey.' 

The  book  was  immediately  sent,  and  shortly  returned  with  the  following 
note  and  letter. 

'  Keswick,  25  April,  1829. 
Sir, — Your  book  has  been  four  and  twenty  hours  in  my  possession,  and  I 
return  it  with  many  thanks,  having  perused  it  carefully,  made  notes  from  it, 
and  satisfied  myself  most  completely,  that  there  is  not  the  slightest  reason  for 
supposing  Bunyan  had  ever  heard  of  it,  nor  that  he  could  ever  have  taken 
even  a  hint  from  it,  if  he  had  read  it. 

I  remain,  sir,  yours  truly, 
T©  Greorge  Oflfer,  Esq.  Robert  Southey.' 


190  REMINISCENCES    OF 

and  to .     When  I  think  of  you  all,  old  times  return  with  the 

freshness  of  a  dream.  In  less  time  than  has  elapsed  since  we 
were  all  young  together,  we  shall  be  together  again,  and  have 
dropped  the  weight  of  years  and  mortality  on  the  way. 

If  my  old  acquaintance,  Isaac  James  be  living,  remember  me 
to  him  with  cordial  good  will.  •  God  bless  you,  my  dear  oid 
friend. 

Robert  Southey." 


The  following  letter  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Major. 

'  Keswick,  April  25,  1829. 
Dear  Sir, 

You  will  perceive  by  the  return  of  one  of  your  treasures,  that  the  precious 
parcel  arrived  safely.  I  have  read  through  the  '  Dutch  Original,'  and  made 
notes  from  it ; — there  is  not  the  slightest  resemblance  in  it  to  anything  in  the 
'  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  The  three  striking  circumstances  which  you  mentioned 
of  the  '  Hill  of  Difficulty,'  the  '  Slough  of  Despond,'  and  '  Vanity  Fair,'  do 
not  afford  any  ground  for  supposing  that  Bunyan  had  ever  heard  of  this  book; 
or  that  even  if  he  had  read  it,  he  should  have  taken  one  hint  from  it.  Here 
the  incidents  are,  1st  that  the  wilful  Pilgrim  stops  in  a  village  crowd  to  see 
some  juggler's  tricks  at  a  fair,  and  certain  vermin  in  consequence  shift  their 
quarters  from  some  of  the  rabble  close  to  her,  to  her  person.  2nd.  That  by 
following  a  cow's  track  instead  of  keeping  the  high  road,  she  falls  into  a  ditch. 
And  3rd.  That  going  up  a  hill  at  the  end  of  their  journey,  from  whence  Jeru- 
salem is  in  sight,  she  climbs  too  high  in  a  fit  of  presumption,  is  blown  down, 
and  falls  into  the  place  whence  there  is  no  deliverance.  I  am  very  glad  to 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  comparing  it  with  the  French  translation,  in 
which,  as  you  may  suppose,  everything  which  is  national,  and  peculiar,  and 
racy,  is  lost. 

The  author's  name  is  not  to  be  found  in  '  Poppen's  Bibliotheca  Belgica.' 
Another  and  larger  bible  of  the  same  country,  ought  to  be  on  its  way  to  me 
from  Brussels  at  this  time,  and  there  I  shall  no  doubo  find  an  account  of  him. 
But  the  inquiry  is  not  worth  much  trouble,  seeing  how  completely  all  imita- 
tion or  even  resemblance  will  be  disproved  by  an  account  of  the  book.  By 
the  by,  it  cannot  be  very  rare  in  its  own  country,  seeing  it  was  popular  enough 
for  a  French  translation  to  be  /-^-printed  more  than  a  hundred  years  after  its 
first  appearance.     Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

Yours  faithfully, 

Robert  Southey.'' 

The  volume  contains  294  pages  in  Dutch.  Read,  analyzed,  and  a  very 
correct  account  of  it  completed  in  24  hours !  ! 

I  am,  my  dear  sir,  yours  truly, 
Joseph  Cottle.  George  Offer, 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  191 

"Keswick,  March  22,  1831. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Your  package  arrived  safely  yesterday  afternoon.  I  shall  get  the 
books  with  which  you  presented  me  furbished  up,  and  write  in 
each  that  it  was  your  gift ; — a  pleasant  memorandum  which  is 
found  in  others  on  these  shelves.  I  like  to  give  books  this  inci- 
dental value,  and  write  therefore,  the  date,  and  place,  in  every 
fresh  acquisition.  Many  recollections  do  they  call  up,  which  oth- 
erwise would  have  passed  away.  You  who  have  knowm  me  from 
the  beginning  of  my  authorial  life,  ought  to  see  this  library  of 
mine.  As  I  think  no  man  ever  made  more  use  of  his  books,  so  I 
am  sure  that  no  man  ever  took  more  delight  in  them.  They  are 
the  pride  of  my  eyes,  and  the  joy  of  my  heart ;  an  innocent 
pride,  I  trust,  and  a  wholesome  joy." 

The  reader's  attention  will  now  be  directed  to  Mr.  Coleridge, 
by  introducing  a  letter  from  Mr.  C.  to  Mr.  Wade,  who  had  written 
to  him  for  advice  respecting  a  meditated  excursion  to  Germany. 

"March  6,  1801. 
My  very  dear  Friend, 

I  have  even  noAv  received  your  letter.  My  habits  of  thinking 
and  feeling,  have  not  hitherto  inclined  me  to  personify  commerce 
in  any  such  shape,  so  as  to  tempt  me  to  turn  pagan,  and  offer 
vows  to  the  goddess  of  our  isle.  But  when  I  read  that  sentence 
in  your  letter,  '  The  time  will  come  I  trust,  when  I  shall  be 
able  to  pitch  my  tent  in  your  neighborhood,'  I  was  most  potently 
commanded  to  a  breach  of  the  second  commandment,  and  on  my 
knees,  to  entreat  the  said  goddess,  to  touch  your  bank  notes  and 
guineas  with  her  magical  multiplying  w^and.  I  could  offer  such 
a  prayer  for  you,  with  a  better  conscience  than  for  most  men, 
because  I  know  that  you  have  never  lost  that  healthy  common 
sense,  which  regards  money  only  as  the  means  of  independence, 
and  that  you  would  sooner  than  most  men  cry  out,  enough ! 
enough  !  To  see  one's  children  secured  against  want,  is  doubtless 
a  delightful  thing ;  but  to  wish  to  see  them  begin  the  world  as 
nch  men,  is  unwise  to  ourselves,  for  it  permits  no  close  of  our 
labors,  and  is  pernicious  to  them  ;  for  it  leaves  no  motive  to  their 


192  REMINISCENCES    OF 


exertions,  none  of  those  sympathies  with  the  industrious  and  the 
poor,  which  form  at  once  the  true  rehsh  and  proper  antidote  of 
wealth. 

-.V     -ic     %     jg  ^^^  March  rather  a  perilous  month  for  the  voyage 
from  Yarmouth  to  Hamburg  ?  danger  there  is  very  little,  in  the 
packets,   but  I  know  what  inconvenience  rough  weather  brings 
with  it ;  not  from  my  own  feelings,  for  I  am  never  sea-sick,  but 
always  in  exceeding  high  spirits  on  board  ship,  but  from  what  I 
see  in  others.     But  you  are  an  old  sailor.     At  Hamburg  1  have 
not  a  shadow  of  acquaintance.     My  letters  of  introduction  pro- 
duced for  me,  with  one  exception,  viz.,  Klopstock,  the  brother  of 
the  poet,  no  real  service,   but  merely  distant  and   ostentatious 
civility.     And  Klopstock  will  by  this  time  have  forgotten  my 
name,  which  indeed  he  never  properly  knew,  for  I  could  speak 
only  English  and  Latin,  and  he  only  French  and  German.     At 
Ratzeburgh,  35   English  miles  N.  E.  from  Hamburg,  on  the  road 
to  Lubec,  I  resided  four  months ;  and  I  should  hope,  was  not  un- 
beloved  by  more  than  one  family,  but  this  is  out  of  your  route. 
At  Gottingen  I  stayed  near  five  months,  but  here  I  knew  only 
students,  who  will  have  left  the  place  by  this  time,  and  the  high 
learned  professors,  only  one  of  whom  could  speak  English ;  and 
they  are  so  Avholly  engaged  in  their  academical  occupations,  that 
they  w^ould  be  of  no  service  to  you.     Other  acquaintance  in  Ger- 
many I  have  none,  and  connection  I  never  had  any.     For  though 
I  was  much  entreated  by  some  of  the  Literati  to  correspond  with 
them,    yet  my  natural    laziness,  with   the   little   value  I  attach 
to  literary  men,  as  literary  men,  and  with  my  aversion  from  those 
letters  which  are  to  be  made  up  of  studied  sense,  and  unfelt  com- 
pliments, combined  to   prevent  me  from  availing  myself  of  the 
offer.     Herein,  and  in  similar  instances,  with  Engrlish  authors  of 
repute,  I  have  ill  consulted  the  growth  of  my  reputation  and 
fame.     But  I  have  cheerful  and  confident  hopes  of  myself.     If  I 
can  hereafter  do  good  to  my  fellow-creatures  as  a  poet,  and  as  a 
metaphysician,  they  will  know  it ;  and  any  other  fame  than  this, 
I  consider  as  a  serious  evil,  that  would  only  take  me  from  out  the 
number  and  sympathy  of  ordinary  men,  to  make  a  coxcomb  of 
me.     As  to  the  inns  or  hotels  at  Hamburg,  I  should  recommend 
you  to  some  German  inn.     Wordsworth  and  I  were  at  the  *  Der 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  193 


Wilde  Man/  and  dirty  as  it  was,  I  could  not  find  any  inn  in 
Germany  very  much  cleaner,  except  at  Lubec.  But  if  you  go  to 
an  English  inn,  for  heaven's  sake  avoid  the  '  Shakspeare,'  at  Al- 
tona,  and  the  '  King  of  England,'  at  Hamburg.  They  are  houses  of 
plunder  rather  than  entertainment.  '  The  Duke  of  York'  hotel, 
kept  by  Seaman,  has  a  better  reputation,  and  thither  I  would 
advise  you  to  repair ;  and  I  advise  you  to  pay  your  bill  every 
morning  at  breakfast  time  :  it  is  the  only  way  to  escape  imposi- 
tion. What  the  Hamburg  merchants  may  be  I  know  not,  but 
the  tradesmen  are  knaves.  Scoundrels,  with  yellow- white  phizzes, 
that  bring  disgrace  on  the  complexion  of  a  bad  tallow  candle. 
Now  as  to  carriage,  I  knovv'  scarcely  what  to  advise ;  only  make 
up  your  mind  to  the  very  Avorst  vehicles,  with  the  very  worst 
horses,  driven  by  the  very  worst  postilions,  over  the  very  worst 
roads,  and  halting  two  hours  at  each  time  they  change  horses,  at 
the  very  worst  inns  ;  and  you  have  a  fair,  unexaggerated  picture 
of  travelling  in  North  Germany.  The  cheapest  way  is  the  best ; 
go  by  the  common  post  waggons,  or  stage  coaches.  What  are 
called  extraordinaries,  or  post-chaises,  are  little  wicker  carts,  un- 
covered, with  movable  benches  or  forms  in  them,  execrable  in 
every  respect.  And  if  you  buy  a  vehicle  at  Hamburg,  you  can 
get  none  decent  under  thirty  guineas,  and  very  probably  it  will 
break  to  pieces  on  the  infernal  roads.  The  canal  boats  are  de- 
lightful, but  the  porters  everywhere  in  the  United  Provinces,  are 
an  impudent,  abominable,  and  dishonest  race.  You  must  carry  as 
little  luggage  as  you  well  can  with  you,  in  the  canal  boats,  and 
vvhen  you  land,  get  recommended*  to  an  inn  beforehand,  and  bar- 
^^ain  with  the  porters  first  of  all,  and  never  lose  sight  of  them,  or 
70U  may  never  see  your  portmanteau  or  baggage  again. 

My  Sarah  desires  her  love  to  you  and  yours.  God  bless  your 
lear  little  ones  !  Make  haste  and  get  rich,  dear  friend  !  and  bring 
ip  the  httle  creatures  to  be  playfellows  and  schoolfellows  with  my 
ittk  ones ! 

Again  and  again,  sea  serve  you,  wind  speed  you,  all  things  turn 
ut  good  to  you  !     God  bless  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 


Asa  curious  literary  fact,  I  might  mention  that  the  sale  of  the  first 

9 


i 


194  RE3IINISCENCES    OF 

edition  of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  was  so  slow,  and  the  severity 
of  most  of  the  reviews  so  great,  that  tlieir  progress  to  oblivion, 
notwithstanding  the  merit  whicli  I  was  quite  sure  they  possessed, 
seemed  ordained  to  be  as  rapid  as  it  was  certain.  1  had  given 
thirty  guineas  for  the  copy-right,  as  detailed  in  the  preceding 
letters  ;  but  the  heavy  sale  induced  me  at  length,  to  part  with, 
at  a  loss,  the  largest  proportion  of  the  impression  of  five'lmndred, 
to  Mr.  Arch,  a  London  bookseller.  After  this  transaction  harl 
occurred,  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Wordsworth,  written  tho 
day  before  he  set  sail  for  the  continent,  requesting  me  to  mak'^ 
over  my  interest  in  the  ''  Lyrical  Ballads"  to  Mr.  Johnson,  of  St. 
Paul's  Churchyard.  This  I  could  not  have  done,  had  I  been  so 
disposed,  as  the  engagement  had  been  made  with  Mr.  Arch. 

On  Mr.  W.'s  return  to  England,  I  addressed  a  letter  to  him,  ex- 
plaining the  reasons  Vvhy  I  could  not  comply  v/ith  his  request,  to 
vfhich  he  thus  replied  : 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

I  perceive  that  it  vrould  have  been  impossible  for  you  to  com- 
ply with  my  request,  respecting  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads,'  as  you  had 
entered  into  a  treaty  with  Arch.  How  is  the  copy-right  to  he 
disposed  of  when  you  quit  the  bookselling  business  ?  We  wero 
much  amused  with  the  'Anthology.'  Your  poem  of  the  '  Kill- 
crop'  we  liked  better  than  any  ;  only  we  regretted  that  you  did 
not  save  the  poor  little  innocent's  life,  by  some  benevolent  art  or 
other.  You  might  have  m.anaged  a  little  pathetic  incident,  in 
which  nature,  appearing  forcibly  in  the  child,  might  have  worked 
in  some  way  or  other,  upon  its  superstitious  destroyer. 

We  have  spent  our  time  pleasantly  enough  in  Germany,  but  we 
are  right  glad  to  find  ourselves  in  England,  for  we  have  learnt  to 
know  its  value.  We  left  Coleridofe  well  at  Gottino-en,  a  month 
ago.         '^         '"^'         "'•  '^"^     God  bless  you,  my  dear  Cottle, 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

W.  Wordsworth." 

Soon  after  the  receipt  of  the  above,  I  received  another  letter 
from  Mr.  W.  kindly  urging  me  to  pay  him  a  visit  in  the  north,  in 
which,  as  an  inducement,  he  says, 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  195 

'^  ^''  '^  "  Write  to  me  beforehand,  and  I  will  accom- 
pany you  on  a  tour.  You  will  come  by  Greta-bridge,  which  is 
about  twenty  miles  from  this  place,  (Stockburn  ;)  and  after  we 
have  seen  all  the  curiosities  of  that  neighborhood,  I  will  accom- 
pany you  into  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland.  '•'  '^  '" 
God  bless  you,  dear  Cottle, 

W.  W.'^ 

A  short  time  after  the  receipt  of  this  invitation,  Mr.  Coleridge 
arrived  in  Bristol  from  Germany,  and  as  he  was  about  to  pay  Mr. 
Wordsworth  a  visit,  he  pressed  me  to  accompany  him.  I  had  in- 
tended a  journey  to  London,  and  now  determined  on  proceeding 
with  so  agreeable  a  companion,  and  on  so  pleasant  a  journey  and 
tour ;  taking  the  metropolis  on  my  return.  To  notice  the  com- 
plicated incidents  which  occurred  on  this  tour,  would  occupy  a 
large  space.  I  therefore  pass  it  all  over,  with  the  remark,  that 
in  this  interview  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  the  subject  of  the 
''Lyrical  Ballads"  was  mentioned  but  once,  and  that  casually,  and 
only  to  account  for  its  failure  I  which  Mr.  W.  ascribed  to  two 
causes ;  first  the  ''  Ancient  Mariner,"  which,  he  said,  no  one 
seemed  to  understand  ;  and  secondly,  the  unfavorable  notice  of 
most  of  the  reviews. 

On  my  reaching  London,  having  an  account  to  settle  with 
Messrs.  Longman  and  Rees,  the  booksellers  of  Paternoster  Row, 
I  sold  them  all  my  copy-rights,  which  were  valued  as  one  lot,  by  a 
third  party.  On  my  next  seeing  Mr.  Longman,  he  told  me,  that 
in  estimating  the  value  of  the  copy-rights.  Fox's  "Achmed,"  and 
Wordsworth's  ''Lyrical  Ballads,"  were  ''reckoned  as  nothing.'' 
"  That  being  the  case,"  I  replied,  "  as  both  these  authors  are  my 
personal  friends,  I  should  be  obliged,  if  you  would  return  me 
again  these  two  copy-rights,  that  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  pre- 
senting them  to  the  respective  writers."  Mr.  Longman  answered, 
with  his  accustomed  liberality,  "  You  are  w^elcome  to  them."  On 
my  reaching  Bristol,  I  gave  Mr.  Fox  his  receipt  for  twenty  guineas ; 
and  on  Mr.  Coleridge's  return  from  the  north,  I  gave  him  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  receipt  for  his  thirty  guineas  ;  so  that  whatever  ad- 
vantage has  arisen,  subsequently,  from  the  sale  of  this  volume  of 


196  REMINISCENCES   OF 


the  ''  Lyrical  Ballads,"  I  am  happy  to  say,  has  pertained  ex- 
clusively to  Mr.  W. 

I  have  been  the  more  particular  in  these  statements,  as  it 
furnishes,  perhaps,  the  most  remarkable  instance  on  record,  of  a 
volume  of  Poems  remaining  for  so  long  a  time,  almost  totally 
neglected,  and,  afterwards  acquiring,  and  that  in  a  rapid  degree, 
so  much  deserved  popularity.^' 

A  month  or  two  after  Mr.  Coleridge  had  left  Bristol  for  Ger- 
many, Dr.  Beddoes  told  me  of  a  letter  he  had  just  received  from 
his  friend,  Davies  Giddy,  (afterward  with  the  altered  name  of 
Gilbert,  President  of  the  Royal  Society,)  recommending  a  very 
ingenious  young  chemist,  of  Penzance,  in  Cornwall,  to  assist  him  in 
his  Pneumatic  Institution,  at  the  Hotwells.  "  The  character  is 
so  favorable,"  said  the  Dr.  "  I  think  I  shall  engage  him  ;"  handing 
me  the  letter.  I  read  it,  and  replied,  ''You  cannot  err  in  re- 
cei\ing  a  young  man  thus  recommended."  Two  or  three  weeks 
after.  Dr.  B.  introduced  me  to  no  other  than  Mr.  afterwards  Sir 
Humphrey  Davy.  (Mr.  Giddy  little  thought  that  this  "  young 
chemist  of  Penzance,"  was  destined  to  precede  himself,  in  occupy- 
ing the  chair  of  Xewton.) 

This  Pneumatic  Institution,  for  ascertaining  how  far  the  differ- 
ent gases,  received  into  the  lungs,  were  favorable,  or  not,  to  cer- 
tain diseases,  has  often  been  referred  to ;  but  its  origin,  that  I  am 
aware  of,  has  never  been  stated.  It  has  erroneously  been  sup- 
posed, to  have  depended  for  its  establishment  and  support,  exclu- 
sively on  Dr,  Beddoes.  But  being  acquainted  with  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,,  it  is  right  to  mention,  that  this  Gaseous  In- 
stitution resulted  from  the  liberality  of  the  late  Mr.  Lambton, 

*  Mr.  Southey  in  a  letter  to  me,  dated  May  13,  1799,  thus  writes :  "  Arch, 
wh«  purchased  of  you  the  the  first  edition  of  Wordsworth's  '  Lyrical  Ballads,' 
tells  me  that  he  expects  to  lose  by  them!" 

It  reflects  credit  on  Hannah  More,  to  whom  I  had  presented  the  first  vol- 
ume, that  she  immediately  perceived  the  merits  of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads."  On 
my  visiting  Barley  Wood  soon  after,  she  said  to  me,  "  Your  young  friend 
Wordsworth,  surpasses  all  your  other  young  friends,"  when  producing  the 
book,  she  requested  me  to  read  several  of  the  poems,  which  I  did,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  the  ladies.  On  concluding,  she  said,  "  I  must  hear  '  Harry 
Gill,'  once  more."  On  coming  to  fie  words,  *'  O,  may  he  never  more  be 
warm !"  she  lifted  up  her  hands  in  sinihng  horror. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  197 


(father  of  the  late  Eaii  of  Durham).  When  Mr.  L.  heard  from 
Dr.  Beddoes  an  opinion  expressed,  that  Medical  science  might  be 
greatly  assisted  by  a  fair  and  full  examination  of  the  effects  of 
factitious  airs  on  the  human  constitution,  particularly  in  reference 
to  consumption ;  to  obtain  this  ''  fair  and  full  examination,"  Mr. 
Lambton  immediately  presented  Dr.  B.  with  the  munificent  sum  of 
fifteen  hundred  pounds.  One  other  individual  also,  contributed 
handsomely  towards  the  same  object, — the  late  Mr.  Thomas 
Wedge  wood,  w^ho  presented  Dr.  B.  with  one  thousand  pounds,  for 
the  furtherance  of  this  design.* 

It  might  be  here  mentioned,  that  a  few  months  after  this,  two 
intelligent-looking  boys  w^ere  often  seen  wdtli  Dr.  B.  with  whom 
they  were  domesticated.  The  Dr.  w^as  liberally  remunerated  for 
superintending  their  education,  (with  suitable  masters  ;)  and  this 
he  did  at  the  dying  request  of  their  father,  who  had  recently  de- 
ceased in  Italy.  Dr.  Beddoes  took  great  pains  with  these  boys, 
so  that  when  they  entered  at  Eton,  they  w^ere  found  quite  equal 
to  other  boys  of  their  own  age  in  classical  attainments,  and  greatly 
their  superiors  in  general  knowledge.  The  father  w^as  the  above 
Mr.  Lambton,  and  one  of  the  two  boys,  was  the  late  Earl  of  Dur- 
ham. One  of  the  precepts  strongly  inculcated  on  these  youths, 
was,  ''  Xever  be  idle,  boys.  Let  energy  be  apparent  in  all  you 
do.  If  you  play,  play  heartily,  and  at  your  book,  be  determined 
to  excel.     Languor  is  the  bane  of  intellect." 

I  remember  to  have  seen  Mr.  Lambton  at  Dr.  B.'s.  He  had  a 
fine  countenance,  but  it  betrayed  the  hue  of  consumption.  After 
havino'  been  for  some  time  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Beddoes,  the  Dr. 
recommended  his  patient  to  try  a  w^armer  climate,  when  Mr.  L, 
departed  for  Italy.  Mr.  Lambton's  health  still  declining,  and 
considering  that  his  only  chance  for  life  depended  on  the  skill  of 
his  own  experienced  physician,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Beddoes,  urging 
him,  w^ithout  delay  to  set  off,  I  think  for  Naples.  This  I  received 
from  Dr.  B.  himself,  w^ho  said,  at  the  same  time,  ''  On  Monday 
morning  I  shall  set  off  for  Italy."  But  before  Monday,  the  tidings 
arrived  that  Mr.  Lambton  w^as  dead ! 

*  The  house  of  the  Pneumatic  Institution  was  situated  in  Dowry  Square, 
Hot  wells;  the  house  in  the  corner,  forming  the  north-east  angle  of  the 
Square. 


198  REMINISCENCES   OP 


The  two  young  Lambtons  had  tlie  iidditioniil  privilege  of  hving 
under  the  same  roof  with  Mr.  Davy,  and  on  various  occasions 
through  hfe,  the  Earl  of  Durham  and  his  brother  have  testified  a 
deep  sense  of  respect  and  friendship  for  the  illustrious  chemist 
who  so  enlivened  and  edified  their  younger  days. 

When  Dr.  Beddoes  introduced  to  me  young  Mr.  Davy,  (being 
under  twenty,)  I  w^as  much  struck  with  the  intellectual  charac- 
ter of  his  face.  His  eye  was  piercing,  and  when  not  engaged  in 
converse,  was  remarkably  introverted,  amounting  to  absence,  as 
though  his  mind  had  been  pursuing  some  severe  trains  of  thought 
scarcely  to  be  interrupted  by  external  objects  ;  and  from  the  first 
intervHiew  also,  his  ingenuousness  impressed  me  as  much  as  his 
mental  superiority.  Mr.  D.  having  no  acquaintance  in  Bristol,  I 
encouraged,  and  often  received  his  visits,  and  he  conferred  an  ob- 
ligation on  me,  by  often  passing  his  afternoons  in  my  company. 
During  these  agreeable  interviews,  he  occasionally  amused  me  by 
relating  anecdotes  of  himself ;  or  detailing  his  num.erous  chemical 
experiments ;  or  otherwise  by  repeating  his  poems,  several  of 
which  he  gave  me  (still  retained) ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  doubt 
that  if  he  had  not  shone  as  a  philosopher,  he  would  have  become 
conspicuous  as  a  poet.^ 

I  must  now  refer  again  to  the  Pneumatic  Institution,  to  which 
the  medical  world  looked  with  some  anxiety,  and  which  excited 
much  conversation  in  the  circle  where  I  happened  to  Ije  placed. 
Dr.  Beddoes  early  in  the  year  1798,  had  given  an  admirable  course 
of  Lectures  in  Bristol,  on  the  principles  and  practice  of  chem- 
istry, and  which  were  rendered  popular  by  a  great  diversity  of 
experiments  ;  so  that,  with  other  branches  of  the  science,  the  gases 
had  become  generally  familiar.  The  establishment  of  the  Pneumatic 
Institution  immediately  following,  the  public  mind  was  prepared, 
in  some  measure,  to  judge  of  its  results ;  and  a  very  considerable 

*  Mr.  Davy  often  asked  me  to  attend  his  experiments,  at  the  Wells,  and  as 
an  evidence  of  the  zeal  with  which  he  washed  to  induce  as  many  as  he  could 
to  pursue  his  favorite  chemistry,  in  consequence  of  my  taking  great  interest 
in  his  proceedings,  he  urged  me  to  pursue  chemistry,  as  a  science.  To  prove 
that  he  was  in  earnest,  he  bought  for  me  a  box  of  chemical  tests,  acids,  alka- 
lies, glass  tubes,  retorts,  blow-pipe,  trough,  &c,  &c.  and  assisted  me  in  some 
of  my  first  experiments.     The  trough  I  occasionally  use  at  the  present  time. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEV.  199 


increase  of  confidence  was  entertained,  from  the  acknowledged 
talents  of  the  young  superintendent ;  so  that  all  whicli  could  be 
accomplished  was  fully  calculated  upon.  The  funds  also  which 
supported  the  Institution  being  ample,  the  apparatus  corresponded, 
and  a  moi-e  persevering  and  enthusiastic  experimentalist  than  Mr. 
Davy,  the  wdiole  kingdom  could  not  liave  produced  ;  an  admission 
which  Yv-as  made  by  all  vrho  knew  him,  before  the  profounder 
parts  of  his  character  had  been  de^/eloped.  No  personal  danger 
restrained  him  from  determining  facts,  as  the  data  of  his  reason- 
ing ;  and  if  Fluxions,  or  some  other  means,  had  not  conveyed  the 
information,  sucli  was  his  enthusiasm,  he  would  almost  have 
sprung  from  the  perpendicular  brow  of  St.  Vincent  to  determine 
bis  precise  time,  in  descending  from  the  top  to  the  bottom. 

I  soon  learnt  from  Mr.  J),  himself  the  course  of  his  experi- 
ments; many  of  whicli  vrere  in  the  highest  degree  luizardous, 
when,  with  friendly  earnestness,  I  warned  him  against  his  immi- 
nent perils.  lie  seemed  to  act,  as  if  in  case  of  sacrificing  one 
life,  jie  had  Uvo  or  three  others  in  reserve  on  Vvdiich  he  could  fall 
back  in  case  of  necessity.  lie  occ?isionally  so  excited  my  fears, 
that  I  half  despaired  of  seeing  him  alive  the  next  morning.  He 
has  been  known  sometim.es  to  breathe  a  deadly  gas,  with  his  fin- 
ger on  his  pulse,  to  determine  hovr^  much  could  be  borne,  before  a 
serious  declension  occurred  in  the  vital  action.  The  great  hazards 
to  which  he  exposed  himself  maybe  estimated  by  the  follov^dng 
slight  detail. 

Dr.  Mitchell,  as  well  as  Dr.  Priestly,  had  stated  the  fatal  effects 
on  animal  life,  of  the  gaseous  oxiae  of  azote ;  Mr.  Davy,  on  the 
contrary,  for  reasons  which  satisfied  himself,  thought  it  respirable 
in  its  pure  state ;  at  least,  that  a  single  inspiration  of  this  gas 
might  neither  destroy,  nor  materially  injure  the  powers  of  life. 
He  tried  one  inspiration.  No  particularly  injurious  effects  fol- 
lowed. He  noAV  breathed,  out  of  his  (/reen  hag,  three  quarts  of 
this  nitrous  oxide,  (gaseous  oxide  of  azote,)  when  it  was  attended 
with  a  degree  of  giddiness,  great  fulness  in  the  head,  and  with 
loss  of  distinct  sensation  and  voluntary  power,  analogous  to  in- 
toxication. Not  being  able  fully  to  determine  whether  the  gas 
was  "  stimulant"  or  "  depressing,"  he  now  breathed  four  quarts 
of  it  from  his  green  hag,  when  an  irresistible  propensity  to  action 


'200  REMINISCENCES   OF 


followed,  with  motions,  various  and  violent.  Still,  not  being  sat- 
isfied, he  proceeded  in  his  experiments,  and  at  length  found  that 
he  could  breathe  nine  quarts  for  three  minutes,  and  twelve  quarts 
for  rather  more  than  four,  but  never  for  five  minutes,  without  the 
danger  of  fatal  consequences,  as  before  five  minutes  had  expired, 
the  mouth -piece  generally  dropped  fj'om  his  unclosed  lips.  By 
breathing  from  six  to  seven  quarts  only,  muscular  motions  were 
produced,  and  he  manifested  the  pleasure  it  excited,  by  stamping, 
laui^binof   dancino*   shoutino-,  (fee. 

At  another  time,  having  ascertained  that  his  pure  nitrous  oxide 
was  eminently  stimulant,  he  wanted  to  determine  whether  the  sys- 
tem, in  a  high  state  of  stimulation,  would  then  be  susceptible  of 
a  proportionate  accession  of  stimulus  from  his  new  gas ;  like  that 
Avhich  would  be  experienced  by  the  man,  w^ho,  after  taking  one 
bottle  of  wine,  drank  a  second ;  and  to  acquire  demonstration  on 
this  nice  subject,  (although  he  v/as  a  confirmed  water-drinker,)  to 
form  the  basis  of  his  experiment,  he  drank  off  with  all  dispatch  a 
whole  bottle  of  v/me,  the  consequence  of  v/hich  was,  that  he  first 
reeled,  and  then  fell  dov»m  insensibly  drunk.  After  lying  in  this 
state  for  two  or  three  hours,  he  awoke  with  a  sense  of  nausea, 
headache,  and  the  usual  effects  of  intoxication.  At  the  first  re- 
turn of  recollection,  however,  undaunted  by  the  past,  the  young 
enthusiastic  philosopher  called  out  for  the  g^'een  hag,  when  he 
breathed  twelve  quarts  of  nitrous  oxide,  for  three  or  four  minutes. 
The  consequence  of  this  was,  he  became  a  second  time  intoxicated, 
though  in  a  less  degree,  when  he  strode  across  the  room,  and  by 
stamping,  laughing,  dancing,  aM  vociferation,  found  that  the  same 
effects  followed,  which  attended  his  former  experiment,  without 
any  increase  of  stimulus  from  the  vvine. 

All  the  gases  that  had  hitherto  been  the  subject  of  investigation, 
sunk  in  importance  before  this  nitrous  oxide,  which  the  perseverance 
of  Mr.  Davy  had  now  obtained  in  its  pure  state,  in  any  quantity, 
and  consequently  divested  of  that  foreign  admixture  which  ren- 
dered it  usually  so  destructive.  He  had  also  ascertained  the  quan- 
tity which  might  safely  be  admitted  into  the  lungs.  Dr.  Beddoes 
was  sanguine  as  lo  its  medical  qualities,  and  conceived  that,  if  not 
a  specific,  it  might  prove  highly  advantageous  in  paralysis,  and 
pulmonary  aflfections  ;  and,  in  conjunction  with  these  benefits,  he 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  201 


well  knew  it  would  confer  importance  on  his  own  Pneumatic  In- 
stitution. As  Dr.  B.  meditated  a  publication  expressly  on  this 
subject,  he  was  desirous  of  collecting  the  testimony  of  others,  for 
which  purpose,  he  persuaded  several  of  his  friends  to  breathe  this 
innocent,  but  exhilarating  nitrous  oxide,  while  they  described,  and 
he  recorded  their  sensations. 

Mr.  Southey,  Mr.  Clayfield,  Mr.  Tobin,  and  others  inhaled  the 
new  air.  One,  it  made  dance,  another,  laugh,  while  a  third,  in 
his  state  of  excitement,  being  pugnaciously  inclined,  very  uncour- 
teously  struck  Mr.  Davy  rather  violently  w^ith  his  fist.  It  became 
now  an  object  with  Dr.  B.  to  witness  the  effect  this  potent  gas 
might  produce  on  one  of  the  softer  sex,  and  he  prevailed  on  a 

courageous  young  lady,  (Miss  ,)  to  breathe  out  of  his  pretty 

green  hag,  this  delightful  nitrous  oxide.  After  a  few  inspirations, 
to  the  astonishment  of  everybody,  the  young  lady  dashed  out  of 
the  room  and  house,  when,  racing  doAvn  Hope-square,  she  leaped 
over  a  great  dog  in  her  way,  but  being  hotly  pursued  by  the  fleet- 
est of  her  friends,  the  fair  fugitive,  or  rather  the  temporary  maniac, 
was  at  length  overtaken  and  secured,  without  further  damage. 

Dr.  Beddoes  now  expressed  a  Avish  to  record  my  testimony  also, 
and  presented  me  his  green  hag ;  but  being  satisfied  with  the 
effects  produced  on  others,  I  begged  to  decline  the  honor.  The 
Pneumatic  Institution,  at  this  time,  from  the  laughable  and  diver- 
sified effects  produced  by  this  new  gas  on  different  individuals, 
quite  exorcised  philosophical  gravity,  and  converted  the  laboratory 
into  the  region  of  hilarity  and  relaxation.  The  young  lady's 
feats,  in  particular,  produced  great  merriment,  and  so  intimidated 
the  ladies,  that  not  one,  after  this  time,  could  be  prevailed  upon 
to  look  at  the  green  hag,  or  hear  of  nitrous  oxide,  without  horror  | 

But  more  perilous  experiments  must  now  be  noticed.  Mr.  Davy 
having  succeeded  so  well  with  the  nitrous  oxide,  determined  even 
to  hazard  a  trial  with  the  deadly  nitrous  gas.  For  this  purpose 
he  placed  in  a  bag,  "  one  hundred  and  fourteen  cubic  inches  of.  ni- 
trous gas,"  and  knowing  that  unless  he  exhausted  his  lungs  of  the 
atmospheric  air,  its  oxygen  w^ould  unite  with  the  nitrous  gas,  and 
produce  in  his  lungs  aqua-fortis,  he  wisely  resolved  to  expel,  if 
possible,  the  whole  of  the  atmospheric  air  from  his  lungs,  by  some 
contrivance  of  his  own.     For  this  purpose,  in  a  second  bag,  he 

9^- 


202  REMINISCENCES   OF 


placed  seven  quarts  of  nitrous  oxide,  and  made  from  it  three  in- 
spirations, and  three  expirations,  and  tlicn  instantly  transferred  his 
mouth  to  the  nitrous  gas  bag,  and  turning  the  stop-cock,  took  one 
inspiration.  This  gas,  in  passing  through  his  mouth  and  fauces, 
burnt  his  throat,  and  produced  such  a  spasm  in  the  epiglottis,  ps 
to  cause  him  instantly  to  desist,  when,  in  breathing  the  common 
air,  aqua-fortis  was  really  formed  in  his  mouth,  which  burnt  his 
tongue,  palate,  and  injured  his  teeth.  Mr.  D.  says,  ''I  never  de- 
sign again  to  repeat  so  rash  an  experiment." 

But  though  this  experiment  might  not  be  repeated,  there  was 
one  other  nearly  as  dangerous,  to  which  Mr.  Davy's  love  of  sci- 
ence prompted  him  to  resort ;  not  by  trying  it  on  another,  but, 
generously,  on  himself. 

Mr.  Davy  wished  to  determine  whether  the  carburetted  hydro- 
gen gas,  was  so  destructive  to  animal  life  as  had  been  repre- 
sented. In  its  pure  state,  one  inspiration  of  this  gas  was  under- 
stood to  destroy  life,  but  Mr.  D.  mixed  three  quarts  of  the  gas, 
with  two  quarts  of  the  atmospheric  air,  and  then  breathed  the 
whole  for  nearly  a  minute.  This  produced  only  slight  effects, 
(nothing  to  an  experimental  chemist ;)  merely  "  giddiness,  pain  in 
the  head,  loss  of  voluntary  povrer,"  (fee. 

The  spirit  of  inquiry  not  being  to  be  repressed  by  these  trilling 
inconveniences,  Mr.  Davy  was  noAv  emboldened  to  introduce  into 
his  green  bag,  four  quarts  of  carburetted  hydrogen  gas,  nearly 
pure.  After  exhausting  his  lungs  in  the  usual  way,  he  fiiade  two 
inspirations  of  this  gas.  The  first  inspiration  produced  numbness 
and  loss  of  feeling  in  the  chest.  After  the  second,  he  lost  all 
power  of  perceiving  external  things,  except  a  terrible  oppression 
on  his  chest,  and  he  seemed  sinking  fast  to  death  !  He  had  just 
consciousness  enough  to  remove  the  mouth-piece  from  his  un- 
closed lips,  when  he  became  wholly  insensible.  After  breathing 
the  common  air  for  some  time,  consciousness  was  restored,  and 
Mr.  Davy  faintly  uttered,  as  a  consolation  to  his  then  attendant, 
Mr.  John  Tobin,  "  I  do  not  think  I  shall  die." 

Such  are  some  of  the  appalling  hazards  encountered  by  Mr. 
Davy,  in  his  intrepid  investigation  of  tlie  gases.  These  destruc- 
tive experiments,  during  his  residence  at  Bristol,  piobably,  pro- 
duced those  affections  of  the  chest,   to  which  he  was  subject 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHED.  203 

through  life,  and  wliich,  beyond  all  question,  shortened  his  days. 
Nothing  at  this  moment  so  excites  my  surprise,  as  that  Mr.  D.'s 
life  should  have  been  protracted,  with  all  his  unparalleled  indiffer- 
ence concerning  it,  to  the  vast  age,  for  him,  of  fifty  years. 

I  cannot  here  withhold  an  ungracious  piece  of  information.  In 
the  prospect  of  this  establishment,  great  expectations  had  been 
raised,  and  the  afflicted  of  all  descriptions,  were  taught  to  expect 
a  speedy  cure  ;  so  that  when  the  doors  were  opened,  no  less  than 
seventy  or  eighty  patients,  progressively  applied  for  the  gratui- 
tous alleviation  of  their  maladies.  But  it  is  too  great  a  tax  on  hu- 
man patience,  when  cures  are  always  promised,  but  never  come. 
No  one  recovery,  in  an  obstinate  case,  had  occurred  :  in  conse- 
quence of  which,  many  patients  became  dissatisfied,  and  remitted 
their  attendance.  Independently  of  which,  an  idea  had  become 
prevalent  amongst  the  crowd  of  afflicted,  that  they  were  merely 
made  the  subjects  of  experiment,  which  thinned  the  ranks  of  the 
old  applicants,  and  intimidated  nevr.  It  might  be  said,  that  pa- 
tients after  a  certain  period  had  so  ominously  declined,  that  the 
very  fire  was  likely  to  become  extinguished  for  want  of  fuel.  In 
order  that  the  trials  might  be  deliberately  proceeded  in,  a  fortu- 
nate thought  occurred  to  Dr.  Beddoes ;  namely,  not  to  hrihe,  but 
to  reioard  all  persevering  patients  ;  for  Mr.  Davy  informed  me, 
that,  before  the  Pneumatic  Institution  vras  broken  up,  they  allowed 
every  patient  sixpence  per  diem  ;  so  that  when  all  hopes  of  cure 
had  subsided,  it  became  a  mere  pecuniary  calculation  with  the 
sufterers,  whether,  for  a  parish  allowance  of  three  shillings  a 
week,  they  should  submit  or  not,  to  be  drenched  with  these  nau- 
seous gases. 

This  Pneumatic  Institution,  though  long  in  a  declining  state, 
protracted  its  existence  for  more  than  two  years,  till  the  depart- 
ure from  Bristol  of  Mr.  D.,  and  then  by  its  failure,  it  established 
the  useful  negative  fact,  however  mortifying,  that  medical  science 
was  not  to  be  improved  through  the  medium  of  factitious  airs. 

I  happened  to  be  present  when  Mr.  W.  Coates  casually  named 
to  Mr.  Davy,  then  just  turned  of  twenty,  that  his  boy  the  preced- 
ing evening,  had  accidentally  struck  one  piece  of  cane  against 
another,  in  the  dark,  and  which  produced  light.  It  was  quite  im- 
pressive to -notice  the  intense  earnestness   with    which    Mr.    D. 


204  REMIMSCENCES   OF 


heard  this  fact  which,  by  others,  might  have  been  immediately 
forgotten.  Mr.  D.  on  the  contrary,  without  speaking,  appeared 
lost  in  meditation.  He  subsequently  commenced  his  experiments 
on  these  canes,  and  thus  communicated  the  results  to  his  friend 
Mr.  Giddy,  (now  Gilbert.) 

"  My  dear  Friend, 

*  ^'  '^  '^  1  have  now  just  room  to  gi\'e  you  an 
account  of  the  experiments  I  have  lately  been  engaged  in. 

First.  One  of  Mr.  Coates's  children  accidentally  discovered  that 
two  bonnet-canes  rubbed  together  produced  a  faint  light.  The 
novelty  of  this  experiment  induced  me  to  examine  it,  and  I  found 
that  the  canes  on  collision,  produced  sparks  of  light,  as  brilliant 
as  those  from  flint  and  steel. 

Secondly.  On  examining  the  epidermis,  I  found,  when  it  was 
taken  off,  that  the  canes  no  longer  gave  light  on  collision. 

Thirdly.  The  epidermis,  subjected  to  chemical  analysis,  had  all 
the  properties  of  silex. 

Fourthly.  The  similar  appearance  of  the  epidermis  of  reeds, 
corn,  and  grasses,  induced  me  to  suppose  that  they  also  contained 
silex.  By  burning  them  carefully  and  analyzing  their  ashes,  I 
found  that  they  contained  it  in  rather  larger  proportions  than 
the  canes. 

Fifthly.  The  corn  and  grasses  contain  sufficient  potash  to  form 
glass  with  their  flint.  A  very  pretty  experiment  may  be  made  on 
these  plants  with  the  blow-pipe.  If  you  take  a  straw  of  wheat, 
barley,  or  hay,  and  burn  it,  beginning  at  the  top,  and  heating  the 
ashes  with  a  blue  flame,  you  will  obtain  a  perfect  globule  of  hard 
glass,  fit  for  microscopic  discovery." 

The  circumstance,  that  all  canes,  as  well  as  stravv^s  and  hollow 
grasses,  have  an  epidermis  of  silex,  is  one  of  the  most  singular 
facts  in  nature.  Mr.  Davy,  in  another  place,  has  stated  the  advan- 
tages arising  to  this  class  of  vegetables,  from  their  stony  external 
concretion :  namely,  "  the  defence  it  off*ers  from  humidity ;  the 
shield  which  it  presents  to  the  assaults  of  insects  ;  and  the  strength 
and  stability  that  it  administers  to  plants,  which,  from  being  hoi' 
low,  without  this  support,  would  be  less  perfectly  enabled  to  re* 
sist  the  eff'ect  of  storms." 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOLTHEV.  '20b 

Those  canes  which  are  not  hollow,  are  long  and  slender,  and 
from  Wanting  the  power  to  sustain  themselves,  come  usually  in 
contact  with  the  ground,  when  they  would  speedily  decay,  from 
moisture,  b'at  from  the  impenetrable  coat  of  mail  with  which 
nature  has  furnished  them.  But  questions  still  arise  for  future 
investigators.  How  came  the  matter  of  flint  to  invest  those 
plants  which  most  need  it,  and  not  others  ?  Whence  does  this 
silex  come  ?  Is  it  derived  from  the  air,  or  from  water,  or  from 
the  earth  ?  That  it  emanates  from  the  atmosphere  is  wholly  in- 
admissible. If  the  silex  proceed  from  water,  where  is  the  proof  ? 
and  how  is  the  superficial  deposit  effected  ?  Also,  as  silex  is  not 
a  constituent  part  of  Avater,  if  incorporated  at  all,  it  can  be  held 
only  in  solution.  By  what  law  is  this  solution  produced,  so  that 
the  law  of  gravity  should  be  suspended  ?  If  the  silex  be  derived 
from  the  earth,  by  what  vessels  is  it  conveyed  to  the  surface  of 
the  plants  ?  and,  in  addition,  if  earth  be  its  source,  how  is  it  that 
earth-seeking,  and  hollow  plants,  with  their  epidermis  of  silex, 
should  arrise  in  soils  that  are  not  silicious  ?  being  equally  predom- 
inant, whether  the  soil  be  calcareous,  argillaceous,  or  loamy. 
The  decomposition  of  decayed  animal  and  vegetable  substances, 
doubtless  composes  the  richest  superficial  mould ;  but  this  soil,  so 
favorable  for  vegetation,  gives  the  reed  as  much  silex,  but  no 
more,  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  stalk,  than  the  same  plants 
growing  in  mountainous  districts,  and  primitive  soils.  It  is  to  be 
regretted,  that  the  solution  of  these  questions,  with  others  that 
might  be  enumerated,  had  not  occupied  the  profoundly  investiga- 
ting spirit  of  Mr.  Davy  ;  but  which  subjects  now  offer  an  ample 
scope  for  other  philosophical  speculators. 

It  is  a  demonstrative  confirmation  of  the  accuracy  of  Mr.  Da- 
vy's reasoning,  that  a  few  years  ago,  after  the  burning  of  a  large 
mow,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bristol,  a  stratum  of  pure,  compact, 
vitrified  silex  appeared  at  the  bottom,  forming  one  continuous 
sheet,  nearly  an  inch  in  thickness.  I  secured  a  portion,  which, 
with  a  steel,  produced  an  abundance  of  bright  sparks. 

Upon  Mr.  Coleridge's  return  from  the  north,  to  Bristol,  where 
he  meant  to  make  some  little  stay,  I  felt  peculiar  pleasure  in  in- 
troducing him  to  young  Mr.  Davy.  The  interview  was  mutually 
agreeable,  and  that  which  does  not  often  occur,  notwithstanding 


206  REMINISCENCES    OF 

their  raised  expectations,  each,  afterwards,  in  referring  to  the 
other,  expressed  to  nrie  the  opinion,  that  his  anticipations  had 
been  surpassed.  They  frequently  met  each  other  under  my  roof, 
and  their  conversations  were  often  brilHant ;  intermixed,  occasion- 
ally, with  references  to  the  scenes  of  their  past  lives. 

Mr.  Davy  told  of  a  Cornish  young  man,  of  philosophical  habits, 
who  had  adopted  the  opinion  that  a  firm  mind  might  endure  in 
silence,  any  degree  of  pain :  showing  the  supremacy  of  ''  mind 
over  matter."  His  theory  once  met  with  an  unexpected  confuta- 
tion. He  had  gone  one  morning  to  bathe  in  Mount's  Bay,  and  as 
he  bathed,  a  crab  griped  his  toe,  when  the  young  philosopher 
roared  loud  enough  to  be  heard  at  Penzance.^ 

Mr.  Coleridge  related  the  following  occurrence,  which  he  re- 
ceived from  his  American  friend,  Mr.  Alston,  illustrating  the  effect 
produced  on  a  young  man,  at  Cambridge  University,  near  Boston, 
from  a  fancied  apparition.  ''  A  certain  youth,"  he  said,  "  took  it 
into  his  head  to  convert  a  Tom-Painish  companion  of  his,  by  ap- 
pearing as  a  ghost  before  him.  He  accordingly  dressed  himself 
in  the  usual  way,  having  previously  extracted  the  ball  from  the 
pistol  which  always  lay  near  the  head  of  his  friend's  bed.  Upon 
first  awaking  and  seeing  the  apparition,  A.,  the  youth  who  was  to 
be  frightened,  suspecting  a  trick,  very  coolly  looked  his  compan- 
ion, the  ghost,  in  the  face,  and  said,  '  I  know  you.  This  is  a  good 
joke,  but  you  see  I  am  not  frightened.  Now  you  may  vanish/ 
The  ghost  stood  still.  'Come,'  said  A.,  'that  is  enough.  I 
shall  get  angry.  Away ! '  Still  the  ghost  moved  not.  Ex- 
claimed A.,  'If  you  do  not  in  one  minute  go  away,  I  will  shoot 
you.'  He  w^aited  the  time,  deliberately  levelled  his  pistol,  fired, 
and  with  a  scream  at  the  motionless  immobility  of  the  figure,  was 
convinced  it  was  a  real  ghost — became  convulsed,  and  from  the 
fright,  afterwards  died." 

Mr.  Coleridge  told  also  of  his  reception  at  a  Hessian  village, 
after  his  visit  to  the  Hartz  mountains,  and  the  Brocken.  Their 
party  consisted  of  himself,  Mr.  Carlyon,  and  the  two  Mr.  Parrys 
(sons  of  Dr.  Parry,  of  Bath — one  of  them  the  Arctic  explorer). 
The  four  pedestrians  entered  the  village  late  of  an  evening,  and 
repaired  to  the  chief  ale-house,  w^earied  with  a  hard  day's  journey, 
*  This  young  Philosopher  was  suspected  to  be  Mr.  Davy,  himself. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.   SOUTHEY.  207 


in  order  to  be  refreshed  and  to  rest  for  the  nio-ht.     The  larp-e  room 

o  o 

contained  many  of  the  neighboring  peasants.  "  What  can  we  have 
to  eat?"  said  Mr.  Coleridge.  "Nothing,"  was  the  reply.  "Can 
we  have  beds  ?"  "  ]S"o,"  answered  the  master  of  the  house.  "  Can 
we  have  some  straw  on  which  to  lie  ?"  "  None,  none,"  was  the 
reply.  On  which  Mr.  Coleridge  cried  out,  "Are  the  Hessians 
christians  ?"  To  have  their  Christianity  doubted,  was  an  insuffer- 
able insult,  and  to  prove  their  religion,  one  man  in  a  rage,  hurled 
a  log  of  wood  at  Mr.  C,  w^hich,  if  it  had  struck  him,  would  have 
laid  him  prostrate  !  But  moTe  effectually  to  prove  that  they  were 
christians,  "good  and  true,"  the  men,  in  fierce  array,  now  marched 
up,  and  roughly  drove  the  saucy  Englanders  out  of  the  house,  to 
get  lodgings  where  they  could.  From  the  extreme  wrath  of  the 
insulted  peasants,  the  travellers  were  apprehensive  of  some  w^orse 
assault ;  and  hurrying  out  of  the  village,  weary,  and  hunger-smit- 
ten, bivouacked  under  a  tree,  determined  never  again  to  question 
a  Hessian's  Christianity,  even  under  the  gallows. 

On  one  occasion,  Mr.  Coleridge  entered  into  some  of  his  college 
scenes,  to  one  of  which  I  may  here  refer.  He  said  that,  perhaps, 
it  was  culpable  in  him  not  to  have  paid  more  attention  to  his  dress 
than  he  did  when  at  the  University,  but  the  great  excluded  the 
little.  He  said  that  he  was  once  walking  through  a  street  in 
Cambridge,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  two  silk  gowns,  when  his  own 
habiliments  formed  rather  a  ludicrous  contrast.  His  cap  had  the 
merit  of  having^  once  been  new  :  and  some  untoward  rents  in  his 
gown,  which  he  had  a  month  before  intended  to  get  mended,  left 
a  strong  tendency,  in  some  of  its  posterior  parts,  to  trail  along  the 
ground  in  the  form,  commonly  called  "  tatters."  The  three  friends 
were  settling  the  exact  site  of  Troy,  or  some  other  equally  momen- 
tous subject,  when  they  were  passed  -by  two  spruce  gownsmen, 
one  of  whom  said  to  the  other,  which  just  caught  the  ear  of  Mr. 
C,  "  That  sloven  thinks  he  can  hide  his  ribbons  by  the  gowns  of 
his  companions."  Mr.  C.  darted  an  appalling  glance  at  him,  and 
passed  on.  He  now  learned  the  name,  and  acquired  some  par- 
ticulars respecting  the  young  man  who  had  offended  him,  and 
hastened  home  to  exercise  his  Juvenalian  talent. 

Tlie  next  day  he  gave  his  satire  to  a  friend,  to  show  it  to  the 
young  man,  who  became  quite  alarmed  at  the  mistake  he  had 


208  REMINISCENCES   OF 


made,  and  also  at  the  ominous  words,  "  He  who  wrote  this  can 
write  more."  The  cauldron  might  boil  over  with  fresh  '^  bubble, 
bubble,  toil  and  trouble."  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  there- 
fore immediately  proceeded  to  Mr.  C.'s  chambers;  apologized  for 
his  mconsiderate  expressions;  thought  him  to  have  been  some 
''  rough  colt,"  from  the  country,  again  begged  his  pardon,  and 
received  the  hand  of  reconciliation.  This  young,  miscalculating 
Cantabricrian,  now  became  one  of  Mr.  C.'s  warmest  friends,  and 
rose  to  eminence.'^ 

The  satire  was  singularly  cutting.  I  can  recall  but  two  uncon- 
nected lines : 

'•  With  eye  that  looks  around  with  asking  gaze, 
And  tongue  that  trafficks  in  the  trade  of  praise. "f 

Mr.  Coleridofe  now  told  us  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  Cam- 
bridge  eccentricities,  that  of  his  having  enlisted  as  a  soldier.  He 
had  previously  stated  to  me  many  of  the  following  particulars,  yet 
not  the  whole ;  but  (having  taken  a  deep  interest  in  this  singular 
adventure),  in  addition  to  that  which  I  heard  from  Mr.  C,  who 
never  told  all  the  incidents  of  his  military  life  to  any  one  person, 
but  on  the  contrary,  detailed  some  few  to  one,  and  some  few  to 
another,  I  made  a  point  of  collecting  from  different  friends,  every 
scattered  fact  I  could  obtain,  and  shall  now  throw  the  whole  into 
one  narrative. 

But  before  I  proceed,  I  must  take  some  notice  of  a  statement 
on  this  subject,  communicated  to  the  public,  by  Mr.  Bowles, 
wherein  his  account  appears  to  clash  with  mine.  Of  this  gentle- 
man (with  whose  name  and  writings  I  have  connected  so  many 
pleasant  remembrances,  from  early  life),  I  wish  to  speak  with  the 
utmost  respect ;  but  the  truth  Mr.  B.  himself  will  be  glad  to  learn. 

Mr.  Bowles  states  a  circumstance  relating  to  what  he  calls, 
**  The  most  correct,  sublime,  chaste,  and  beautiful  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge's poems;  the  'Religious  Musings  ;'  "  namely,  that  "it  was 
written,  non  inter  sylvas  academi,  but  in  the  tap-room  at  Reading." 
This  information  could  not  have  been  received  from  Mr.  C,  but 
perhaps  was  derived  from  the  imperfect  recollection  of  Captain  0.. ; 

*  The  late  Archdeacon  Wrangham. 
t  Afterwards  incorporated  in  another  poem. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  209 


but  whoever  the  informant  may  have  been,  the  assertion  has  not 
the  merit  of  being  founded  on  a  shadow  of  accuracy.  The  poem 
of  the  ''Rehgious  Musings"  vfas  not  written  "in  the  tap-room  at 
Reading,"  nor  till  long  after  Mr.  C.  had  quitted  his  military  life. 
It  was  written  partly  at  Stowey  ;  partly  on  Redcliff  Hill ;  and 
partly  in  my  parlor,  where  botli  Mr.  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Southey 
occasionally  wrote  their  verses.  TJiis  will  have  sufficiently  ap- 
peared by  Mr.  C.'s  own  letters ;  to  vrhich  I  could  add  other  deci- 
sive evidence,  if  the  subject  w^ere  of  more  consequence. 

I  now  proceed  with  tlie  narrative  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  military 
adventures,  chiefly  collected  from  liimself,  but  not  inconsiderably 
from  the  information  of  other  of  his  more  intimate  friends  ;  par- 
ticularly R.  Lovell ;  aliliough  I  must  apprise  the  reader  that  after 
a  lapse  of  forty  years,  I  cannot  pledge  myself  for  every  individual 
word  ;  a  severity  of  construction  vrhich  neither  my  memoranda 
nor  memory  would  authorize.  In  ordei-  not  to  interrupt  the  reader, 
by  stating  that  this  was  derived  from  one  source,  and  that  from 
another,  (at  this  time  hardly  to  be  separated  in  my  own  mind,)  I 
shall  narrate  it  as  though  Mr.  Coleridge  had  related  the  v.hole  at 
once,  to  Mr.  Davy  and  myself. 

Mr.  Coleridge  now  told  us  of  one  of  his  Cambridge  eccentrici- 
ties which  highly  amused  us.  He  j-aid  that  he  had  paid  his  ad- 
dresses to  a  Mary  Evans,  who  rejecting  his  offer,  he  took  it  so 
much  in  dudgeon,  that  he  withdrew  from  the  University  to  Lon- 
don, when,  in  a  reckless  state  of  mind,  he  enlisted  in  the  15th, 
Elliot's  Light  Dragoons.  No  objection  having  been  taken  to  his 
height  or  age,  he  was  asked  his  name.  lie  had  previously  deter- 
mined to  give  one  that  was  thoroughly  Kamschatkian,  but  having 
noticed  that  morning  over  a  door  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  (or  the 
Temple,)  the  name  of  "  Cumberbatcii,"  (not  Comberback,)  he 
thought  this  word  sufficiently  outlandish,  and  replied  ''Silas 
Tomken  Cumberbatch,"'^  and  such  was  the  entry  in  the  regimen- 
tal book. 

Here,  in  his  new  capacity,  laborious  duties  devolved  on  Mr. 
C.  He  endeavored  to  think  on  Caesar,  and  Epaminondas,  and 
Leonidas,  with  other  ancient  heroes,  and  composed  himself  to  his 

*  These  three  initials  would  be  the  proper  S.  T,  C.  affixed  to  his  garments. 


210  REMINISCENCES   OP 


fate ;  remembering,  in  every  series,  there  must  be  a  commence- 
ment :  but  still  he  found  confronting  him  no  imaginary  incon- 
veniences. Perhaps  he  who  had  most  cause  for  dissatisfaction, 
was  the  drill  sergeant,  wlio  thought  his  professional  character  en- 
dangered ;  for  after  using  his  utmost  efforts  to  bring  his  raw 
recruit  into  something  like  training,  he  expressed  the  most  serious 
fears,  from  his  unconquerable  awkwardness,  that  he  never  sliould 
be  able  to  make  a  soldier  of  hiiii  I 

Mr.  C.  it  seemed,  could  not  even  rub  down  his  ov,ai  horse,  Avhich, 
however,  it  should  be  known,  vras  rather  a  restive  one,  who,  like 
Cowper's  hare,  ''  vroiild  bite  if  he  could,"  and  in  addition  kick 
not  a  httle.  AVe  could  not  suppose  that  these  predispositions  in 
the  martial  siced  were  at  all  aggravated  by  the  unskilful  jockey- 
ship  to  w^hich  he  was  subjected,  but  the  sensitive  quadruped  did 
rebel  a  little  in  th©  stable,  and  wince  a  httle  in  the  field  !  Per- 
haps the  poor  animal  was  something  in  the  state  of  the  horse  that 
carried  Mr.  Wordsworth's  "  Idiot  Boy,"  who,  in  his  sage  contem- 
plations, ''  wondered" — '' Yfhat  he  had  got  upon  his  back!"  This 
rubbinnf  down  his  horse  was  a  constant  source  of  annoyance  to 
Mr.  C,  ^\\\o  thought  tliat  tlie  most  rational  way  was, — to  let  the 
horse  rub  himself  dovrn,  shaking  lumself  clean,  and  so  to  shine  in 
all  his  native  beauty;  but  on  this  subject  there  were  two  opinions, 
and  his  that  vras  to  decide  carried  most  weight.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  foolish  and  fastidious  taste  of  the  ultra  precise  ser- 
geant, this  whole  mass  of  trouble  might  be  avoided,  but  seeing 
the  tiling  must  be  done,  or  pujiishment !  he  set  about  the  liercu- 
lean  task  witli  tlie  firmness  of  a  Walienstein ;  but  lo !  the 
paroxysm  was  brief,  in  the  necessity  that  called  it  forth.  Mr.  C. 
overcame  this  immense  difficulty,  by  bribing  a  young  man  of  the 
regiment  to  perform  the  achievement  for  him  ;  and  that  on  very 
easy  terms  ;  namely,  by  writing  for  him  some  "  Love  Stanzas," 
to  send  to  his  sweetheart ! 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  tlie  midst  of  all  his  deficiencies,  it  appeared; 
was  liked  by  tlie  men,  although  he  was  the  butt  of  the  whole 
company ;  being  esteemed  by  them  as  next  of  kin  to  a  natural, 
though  of  a  peculiar  kind — a  talking  natural.  This  fancy  of  theirs 
was  stoutly  resisted  by  the  love-sick  swain,  but  the  regimental 
logic  prevailed  ;  for,  whatever  they  could  do,  with  masterly  deX' 


J 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  211 

teritj,  lie  could  not  do  at  all,  ergo,  must  he  not  be  a  natural  ? 
There  was  no  man  in  the  regiment  v/ho  met  with  so  many  falls 
from  his  horse,  as  Silas  Tomken  Cumberbatcli  I  He  often  calcu- 
lated with  so  little  precision  his  due  equilibrium,  that,  in  mount- 
ing on  one  side,  (perhaps  the  wTong  stirrup,)  the  probability  was, 
especially  if  his  horse  moved  a  little,  that  he  lost  his  balance,  and 
if  he  did  not  roll  back  on  this  side,  came  down  ponderously  on 
the  other  !  when  the  laugh  spread  amongst  the  men,  "  Silas  is  off 
again !"  Mr.  C.  had  often  heard  of  campaigns,  but  he  never 
before  had  so  correct  an  idea  of  hard  service. 

Some  mitigation  was  now  in  store  for  Mr.  C.  arising  out  of  a 
whimsical  circumstance.  He  bad  been  placed  as  a  sentinel,  at  the 
door  of  a  ball-room,  or  some  public  place  of  resort,  when  two 
of  his  officers,  passing  in,  stopped  for  a  moment,  near  Mr.  C, 
talking  about  Euripides,  tvro  lines  from  whom,  one  of  them  re- 
peated. At  the  sound  of  Greek,  the  sentinel  instinctively  turned 
his  ear,  when  he  said,  w^ith  all  deference,  toucliing  his  lofty  cap, 
"  I  hope  your  honor  will  excuse  me,  but  tlie  lines  you  have  re- 
peated are  not  quite  accurately  cited.  These  are  the  lines,"  when 
he  gave  them  in  their  more  correct  form.  "Besides,"  said  Mr. 
C,  "  instead  of  being  in  Euripides,  the  lines  will  be  found  in  the 
second  antistrophe  of  the  *  /Edipus  of  Sopliocles.'  "  ''  Why,  man, 
who  are  you  ?"  said  the  officer,  "  old  Faustus  ground  young 
again?"  ''I  am  your  honor's  humble  sentinel,"  said  Mr.  C, 
again  touching  his  cap. 

The  officers  hastened  into  the  room,  and  inquired  of  one  and 
another,  about  that  "  odd  fish,"  at  the  door ;  when  one  of  the 
iness  (it  is  believed  the  surgeon)  told  them,  that  he  had  his  eye 
upon  him,  but  he  v/ould  neither  tell  where  he  came  from,  nor 
anything  about  his  family  of  the  Cumberbatches  ;  "but,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  instead  of  his  being  an  ^  odd  fish,'  I  suspect  he  must 
be  a  '  stray  bird'  from  the  Oxford  or  Cambridge  aviary."  They 
learned  ako,  the  laughable  fact,  that  he  was  bruised  all  over,  by 
frequent  falls  from  his  horse.  "  Ah,"  said  one  of  the  officers, 
*'  we  have  had,  at  different  times,  two  or  three  of  these  '  Uni- 
versity birds'  in  our  regiment."  This  suspicion  was  confirmed  by 
one  of  the  officers,  Mr.  Nathaniel  Ogle,  who  observed  that  he  had 
noticed  a  line  of  Latin,  chalked  under  one  of  the  men's  saddles, 


212  REMINISCENCES   OF 

and  was  told,   on  inquirin<r  whose   saddle  it   was,    that    it   was 
"  Cumberbatcli's." 

The  officers  now  kindly  took  pity  on  the  'poor  scholar,'  and 
had  Mr.  C.  removed  to  the  medical  department,  where  he  was 
appointed  assistant  in  tlie  regimental  hospital.  This  change  was 
a  vast  improvement  in  Mr.  C.'s  condition ;  and  happy  was  the 
day,  also,  on  which  it  took  place,  for  the  sake  of  the  sick  patients  ; 
for,  Silas  Tomken  Cumberbatch's  amusing  stories,  they  said,  did 
them  more  good  than  all  the  doctor's  physic  !  Many  ludicrous 
dialogues  sometimes  occurred  between  Mr.  C.  and  his  new  disci- 
pies ;  particularly  with  one  w4io  was  ''  the  geographer."  The 
followinor  are  some  of  these  dialoQ-ues. 

If  he  began  talking  to  one  or  two  of  his  comrades ;  for  they 
were  all  on  a  perfect  equality,  except  that  those  who  w^ent  through 
their  exercise  the  best,  stretched  their  necks  a  little  above  the 
''  awkward  squad,"  in  w^hich  ignoble  class  Mr.  C.  was  placed,  as 
the  pre-eminent  member,  ahnost  by  acclamation  ;  if  he  began  to 
speak,  notwithstanding,  to  one  or  two,  others  drew  near,  increas- 
ing momently,  till  by-and-bye  the  sick-beds  were  deserted,  and 
Mr.  C.  formed  the  centre  of  a  large  circle. 

On  one  occasion  he  told  them  of  the  Peloponnesian  war,  which 
lasted  twenty-seven  years.  ''  There  must  have  been  famous  pro- 
motion there,"  said  one  poor  fellow,  haggard  as  a  death's  head. 
Another,  tottering  with  disease,  ejaculated,  ''  Can  you  tell,  Silas, 
how  many  rose  from  the  ranks  ?" 

He  now  still  more  excited  their  wonderment,  by  recapitulating 
the  feats  of  Archimedes.  As  the  narrative  proceeded,  one  re- 
strained his  scepticism,  till  he  was  almost  ready  to  burst,  and  then 
vociferated,  "  Silas,  that's  a  He  !"  "  D'ye  think  so  ?"  said  Mr.  C. 
smiling,  and  went  on  with  his  story.  The  idea,  however,  got 
amongst  them,  that  Silas's  fancy  was  on  the  stretch,  when  Mr.  C. 
finding  that  this  tack  would  not  do,  changed  his  subject,  and  told 
them  of  a  famous  general,  called  Alexander  the  Great.  As  by  a 
magic  spell,  the  flagging  aftention  was  revived,  and  several,  at  the 
same  moment,  to  testify  their  eagerness,  called  out,  "The  general! 
The  general !"  "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  him,"  said  Mr.  C.  when 
impatience  marked  every  countenance.  He  then  told  them  whose 
son  this  Alexander  the  Great  Avas  ;  no  less  than  PhiHp  of  Macedon. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  213 


**  I  never  heard  of  hini,"  said  one.  "  I  think  I  have,"  said  the 
<' geographer,"  ashamed  of  being  thought  ignorant, '' Silas,  wasn't 
he  a  Cornish  man  ?     I  knew  one  of  the  Alexanders  at  Truro  !" 

Mr.  C.  now  Avent  on  describing  to  them,  in  glowing  colors,  the 
valor,  and  the  wars,  and  the  conquests  of  this  famous  general. 
''Ah,"  said  one  man,  whose  open  mouth  had  complimented  the 
speaker,  for  the  preceding  half  hour ;  "Ah,"  said  he,  "  Silas,  this 
Alexander  must  have  been  as  great  a  man  as  our  Colonel !" 

Mr.  C.  now  told  them  of  the  "  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand." 
''  I  don't  like  to  hear  of  retreat,"  said  one.  "  Nor  I,"  said  a 
second  :  "  I'm  for  marching  on."  Mr.  C.  now  told  of  the  inces- 
sant conflicts  of  these  brave  warriors,  and  of  the  virtues  of  the 
"  square."  "  They  were  a  parcel  of  crack  men,"  said  one. 
"Yes,"  said  another,  "  their  bayonets  fixed,  and  sleeping  on  their 
arms  day  and  night."  ''I  should  like  to  know,"  said  a  fourth, 
"  what  rations  were  given  with  all  that  hard  fighting ;"  on  which 
an  Irishman  replied,  ''  to  be  sure,  every  time  the  sun  rose,  two 
pounds  of  good  ox  beef,  and  plenty  of  whiskey." 

At  another  time  he  told  them  of  the  invasion  of  Xerxes,  and 
his  crossing  the  tvide  Hellespont.  "Ah,"  said  a  young  recruit,  (a 
native  of  an  obscure  village  in  Kent,  who  had  acquired  a  decent 
smattering  of  geography, — knowing  well  that  the  world  was 
round,  and  that  the  earth  was  divided  into  land  and  water,  and, 
furthermore,  that  there  were  more  countries  on  the  globe  than 
England,  and  who  now  wished  to  raise  his  pretensions  a  little  be- 
fore his  comrades  ;  said  this  young  man  of  Kent :  "  Silas,  I  know 
where  that  '  Helspont '  is.  I  think  it  must  be  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Thames,  for  His  very  wide." 

Mr.  C.  now  told  them  of  the  heroes  of  Thermopylae,  when  the 
geographer  interrupted  him,  by  saying,  "  Silas,  I  think  I  know, 
too,  where  that  '  Thermopple '  is ;  isn't  it  somewhere  up  in  the 
north  ?"  "  You  are  quite  right.  Jack,"  said  Mr.  C.  "  it  is  to  the 
north  of  the  Line."  A  conscious  elevation  marked  his  counte- 
nance, and  he  rose  at  once,  five  degrees  in  the  estimation  of  his 
friends. 

In  one  of  these  interesting  conversaziones,  when  Mr.  C.  was 

sitting  at  the  foot  of  a  bed,  surrounded  by  his  gaping  comrades, 

I  who  were  always  solicitous  of,  and  never  wearied  with,  his  stories. 


214  REMINISCENCES   OF 


the  door  suddenly  burst  open,  and  in  came  two  or  three  gentle- 
men, (his  friends,)  looking  some  time,  in  vain,  amid  the  uniform 
dresses,  for  their  man.  At  length,  they  pitched  on  Mr.  C.,and 
taking  him  by  the  arm,  led  him,  in  silence,  out  of  the  room,  (a 
picture  indeed,  for  a  Wilkie  1)  As  the  supposed  deserter  passed 
the  threshold,  one  of  the  astonished  auditors  uttered,  with  a  sigh, 
''Poor  Silas  !  I  wish  they  may  1  ^,t  him  off  with  a  cool  five  hun- 
dred !"  Mr.  C.'s  ransom  was  soon  joyfully  adjusted  by  his  friends, 
and  now  the  wide  world  once  more  lay  before  him.^* 

A  very  old  friend  of  Mr.  Coleridge  has  recently  furnished  me 
with  the  two  following  anecdote^  of  Mr.  C.  which  were  also  new 
to  me. 

The  inspecting  officer  of  his  regiment,  on  one  occasion,  was  ex- 
amining the  guns  of  the  men,  and  coming  to  one  piece  which  was 
rusty,  he  called  out  in  an  authoritative  tone,  "  Whose  rusty  gunf  | 

*  This  account  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  military  life,  I  read  to  Mr.  Wade,  who 
remarked  that  the  greater  part  of  what  hj  had  heard,  Mr.  Coleridge  had,  at 
different  times,  repeated  to  him.  Mr.  W.  haxing  been  an  old  and  steady 
friend  of  Mr.  C.  I  expressed  a  desire  that  he  v/ould  read  the  whole  MS.  Me- 
moir thoughtfully,  in  my  presence,  on  successive  mornings,  and,  without  he?"- 
tation,  dissent,  if  he  thought  it  needful,  from  any  of  my  statements.  He  after- 
wards remarked,  ••  I  have  read  deliberately  the  whole  manuscript  with  intense 
interest,  as  all  who  knew  Coleridge  will,  and,  I  think,  those  who  knew 
him  not.  It  is  Coleridge  himself,  undisguised.  All  the  statements  I  believ." 
to  be  correct.  Most  of  them  I  know  to  be  such.  There  is  nothing  in  this 
xMemoir  of  our  friend  to  which  I  object ;  nothing  which  I  could  wish  to  sc' 
omitted."  He  continued,  "  With  respect  to  those  letters  relating  to  opium, 
I  think  you  would  be  unfaithful,  if  you  were  to  suppress  them:  but  that  letter 
addressed  to  me,  must  be  published,  (according  to  Mr.  Coleridge's  solemn  in- 
junction,) either  by  you,  or  myself  The  instruction  to  be  derived  from  this 
and  his  penitential  letters  addressed  to  you,  is  incalculable.  All  my  friends 
unite  with  me  in  this  opinion." 

Mr.  W.  related,  at  this  time,  one  circumstance,  received  by  him  from  Mr. 
Coleridge,  which  was  new  to  me,  and  which  is  as  follows.  One  of  the  men 
in  Mr.  C.'s  company,  had,  it  appeared,  a  bad  case  of  the  small  pox,  when  Mr. 
C.  was  appointed  to  be  his  nurse ^  night  and  day.  The  fatigue  and  anxiety, 
a  id  various  inconveniences,  involved  in  the  superintendence  on  this  his  sorely 
diseased  comrade,  almost  sickened  him  of  hospital  service  :  so  that  one  or  two 
^ore  such  cases  would  have  reconciled  him  to  the  ranks,  and  have  made  him 
covet,  once  more,  the  holiday  play  of  rubbing  down  his  horse. 

•)■  At  the  time  Mr.  Coleridge  belonged  to  the  15th  Light  Dragoons,  the  men 
carried  carbines,  in  addition  to  swords  and  pistols.  More  recently,  a  snorter 
gun  has  been  substituted,  called  a  fusee. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  215 


is  this  ?"  when  Mr.  Coleridge  said,  "  Is  it  very  rusty,  Sir?''  "  Yes 
Cumberbatch,  it  2*5,"  said  the  officer,  sternly.  "  Then,  Sir,"  re- 
plied Mr.  C.  ''it  must  be  mine  !"  The  oddity  of  the  reply  dis- 
armed the  officer,  and  the  poor  scholar  escaped  without  punisli- 
ment. 

Mr.  Coleridge  vras  a  remarkably  awkward  horseman,  so  mucli 
so,  as  generally  to  attract  notice.  Some  years  after  this,  he  was 
riding  along  the  turnpike  road,  in  the  county  of  Durham,  when  a 
wag,  approaching  him,  noticed  his  peculiarity,  and  (quite  mistaking 
his  man)  thought  the  rider  a' fine  subject  for  a  little  sport ;  when, 
as  he  drew  near,  he  thus  accosted  Mr.  C.  ''I  say,  young  man,  did 
you  meet  a  tailor  on  the  road  V''  ''  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  C.  (who 
was  never  at  a  loss  for  a  rejoinder.)  ''  I  did  ;  and  he  told  me  if  I 
went  a  little  further  I  should  meet  a  goose!''  The  assailant  was 
struck  dumb,  while  the  traveller  jogged  on. 

Mr.  C.  gave  me  these,  his  translations  from  the  German. 

ON    A    BAD    RF.ADK.^    OP    HIS    OWN    VERSES. 

Hoarse  Msevius  reads  his  hobbling  verse 

To  all,  and  at  all  times, 
And  deems  them  both  divinely  smooth, 

His  voice,  as  well  as  rhymes. 

But  folks  say  Maevius  is  no  ass  ! 

But  Ma3vius  makes  it  clear. 
That  he's  a  monster  of  an  ass, 

An  ass  without  an  ear. 


If  the  gailt  of  all  lying  consists  in  deceit, 

Lie  on — 't  is  your  duty,  sweet  youth  ! 
For  believe  me,  then  only  we  find  you  a  cheat, 

When  you  cunningly  tell  us  the  truth. 

As  Dick  and  I  at  Charing  Cross  v/ere  walking, 
Whom  should  we  see  on  t'other  side  pass  by. 

But  Informator  with  a  stranger  talking, 
So  1  exclaimed — "  O,  what  a  lie  !" 

Quoth  Dick,  "  What,  can  you  hear  him'?"     "  Stuff! 
I  saw  him  open  his  mouth — an't  that  enough  '?" 


ON    OBSERVING    A    LADY    LICKING    HER    LAP-DOG. 

Thy  Lap-dog  Rufa,  is  a  dainty  beast ; 
It  don't  surprise  me  in  the  least, 


21G  REMINISCENCES   OF 


To  see  thee  lick  so  dainty  clean  a  beast, 
But  that  so  dainty  clean  a  beast  licks  thee- 
Yes — that  surprises  me. 


Jack  writes  his  verses  with  more  speed 

Than  the  printer's  boy  can  set  'em; 
Quite  as  fast  as  we  can  read, 

But  only — not  so  fast  as  we  forget  'em. 

Mr.  Coleridge  accompanied  these  epigrams  with  the  translatioD 
of  one  of  Lessing's  pieces,  where  thef  felicity  of  the  expression,  in 
its  English  form,  will  excite  in  most  readers  a  suspicion,  that 
no  German  original  could  equal  the  poem  in  its  new  dress. 

MY    LOVE. 

I  ask'd  my  love  one  happy  day, 
What  I  should  call  her  in  my  lay  ! 

By  what  sweet  name  from  Rome  or  Greece ; 
Iphigenia,  CleUa,  Chloris, 
Laura,  Lesbia,  or  Doris, 

Dorimene,  or  Lucrece'? 
Ah  !  replied  my  gentle  fair, 
Beloved  !  what  are  names  but  air ! 

Take  whatever  suits  the  line : 
Call  me  Clelia,  call  me  Chloris, 
Laura,  Lesbia,  or  Doris, 

Only,  only,  call  me  thine. 

Mr.  C.  told  me  that  he  intended  to  translate  the  whole  of  Les- 
sing.  I  smiled.  Mr.  C.  understood  the  symbol,  and  smiled  in 
return. 

The  above  poem  is  thus  printed  in  the  last  edition  of  1835,  by 
which  the  two  may  be  compared,  and  the  reader  w^ll  perhaps 
think  that  the  alterations  are  not  improvements. 


I  ASKED  my  fair  one  happy  day, 
What  I  should  call  her  in  my  lay  1 

By  what  sweet  name  from  Rome  or  Greece ; 
Lalage,  NesBra,  Chloris, 
Sappho,  Lesbia,  or  Doris, 

Arethusa,  or  Lucrece. 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  '2r 


Ah,  replied  my  gentle  fciix^, 
Beloved,  what  are  names  but  air  ? 

Choose  thou  whatever  suits  the  line  ; 
Call  mc  Sappho,  call  me  Chloris, 
Call  me  Lalage,  or  Doris, 

Only,  only,  call  me  thine. 

Some  time  after  this,  Mr.  Coleridge  being  in  an  ill  state  of 
healtli,  recollected  that  a  friend  of  his,  Sir  John  Stoddart,  was  the 
Judge  at  Malta, ^  and  he  determined  to  repair  to  that  island.  Here 
he  was  introduced  to  Sir  Alexander  Ball,  the  Governor,  who  hap- 
pened at  that  time  to  be  in  want  of  a  Secretary,  and  being  greatly 
pleased  with  Mr.  Coleridge,  he  immediately  engaged  him  in  that 
capacity.! 

1  shall  here,  for  the  present,  leave  the  narrative  of  Mr.  C.  in 
other  and  better  hands,  and  proceed  to  remark,  that  Mr.  Davy  and 
Mr.  Coleridge  continued  their  friendly  feeling  towards  each  other 
through  life.  Mr.  Davy,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Poole,  (1804,)  thus 
expresses  himself: 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Coleridge  within  the  last  three 
weeks.  He  writes  from  Malta,  in  good  spirits,  and  as  usual,  from 
the  depth  of  his  being.  God  bless  him  !  He  was  intended  for  a 
great  man.     I  hope  and  trust  he  will,  at  sojne  period,  appear  such." 

Mr.  Davy,  after  a  continuance  in  Bristol  of  more  than  tw^o  years, 
sent  me  the  following  letter,  with  a  copy  of  "  Burns's  Life  and 
Works,"  by  Dr.  Currie. 

*  Mr.  Stoddart  was  a  gentleman  of  whom  he  often  talked,  and  spoke  feel- 
ingly of  Mr,  S.'s  chagrin,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  protessional  career.  Briefs 
were  then  scarce,  yet  one  evening  an  attorney  called  with  the  object  of  his 
desire,  but  Mr.  S.  was  not  at  home,  and  the  urgency  of  the  case  required  it  to 
be  placed  in  other  hands.  This  was  long  a  subject  of  lamentation  to  the 
young  barrister,  and  also  to  his  friends ;  but  success  follov/ed. 

t  Mr.  Coleridge  sustained  one  serious  loss,  on  quitting  Malta,  which  he 
/greatly  deplored.  He  had  packed  in  a  large  case,  all  his  books  and  MSS. 
with  all  the  letters  received  by  him  durino-  his  residence  on  the  island.  His 
directions  were,  to  be  forwarded  to  England,  by  the  first  ship ;  with  Bristol, 
as  its  ultimate  destination.  It  was  never  received,  nor  could  he  ever  learn 
what  became  of  it.  It  may  be  lying  at  this  moment  in  some  custom-house 
wareroom,  waiting  for  the  payment  of  the  duty  !  of  which  Mr.  C.  probably 
was  not  aware. 

10 


218  REMINISCENCES   OF 


"  Dear  Cottle, 

I  have  been  for  the  last  six  weeks  so  much  hurried  by  business, 
and  the  prospect  of  a  change  of  situation,  that  1  liave  not  had  time 
to  call  on  you.  1  am  now  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  Hotwells, 
and  had  designed  to  see  you  this  morning,  but  engagements  have  un- 
luckily prevented  me.  1  am  going  to  the  Royal  Institution,  whero. 
if  you  come  to  London,  it  will  give  me  much  pleasure  to  see  you. 

Will  you  be  pleased  to  accept  the  copy  of  '  Burns's  Life  and 
Poems,'  sent  with  this,  and  wlien  you  are  reading  with  dehght  the 
effusions  of  your  brother  bard,  occasionally  think  of  one  who  is, 
with  sincere  regard  and  affection,  your  friend, 

H.  Davy. 
March  9th,  180L'"' 

In  a  letter  of  Sir  H.  Davy,  addressed  to  his  friend  Mr.  Poole, 
1803,  he  thus  writes  of  S.  T.  C. 

"  Coleridge  has  left  London  for  Keswick.  During  his  stayin 
town,  I  saw  him  seldomer  than  usual ;  when  I  did  see  him,  it  was 
generally  in  the  midst  of  large  companies,  where  he  is  the  image 
of  power  and  activity.  His  eloquence  is  unimpaired ;  perhaps  it 
is  softer  and  stronger.  His  will  is  less  than  ever  commensurate 
with  his  ability.  Brilliant  images  of  greatness  float  upon  his  mind, 
like  images  of  the  morning  clouds  on  the  waters.  Their  forms  are 
changed  by  the  motion  of  the  weaves,  they  are  agitated  by  every 
breeze,  and  modified  by  every  sunbeam.  He  talked  in  the  course 
of  an  hour,  of  beginning  three  works  ;  and  he  recited  the  poem  of 
Chrisiabel  unfinished,  and  as  I  had  before  heard  it.  What  talent 
does  he  not  waste  in  forming  visions,  sublime,  but  unconnected 
with  the  real  world !  I  have  looked  to  his  efforts,  as  to  the  efforts 
of  a  creating  being ;  but  as  yet  he  has  not  laid  the  foundation  fc^ 
the  new  world  of  intellectual  forms." 

In  the  following  letter  received  by  me  from  Sir  H.  Davy,  so 
late  as  June.  1823,  he  refers  to  Mr.  Colerido-e. 

'*  My  dear  Sir, 

*  ■        *         *  I  have  often  thought  on  the  subject  of  the . 

early  history  of  our  planet,  and  have  some  peculiar  views,  but  I ' 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  219 

have  some  reserve  in  talking  here  about  it,  as  all  our  knowledge 
on  such  matters  is  little  more  than  ignorance. 

What  I  stated  to  the  Royal  Society,  in  awarding  the  medal  to 
Professor  Buckland,  has  not  been  correctly  given  in  the  Journals. 
I  merely  said  that  the  facts  lately  brought  forward,  proved  the 
occurrence  of  that  great  catastrophe  which  had  been  recorded  in 
sacred  and  profane  history,  and  of  which  traditions  were  current, 
even  amongst  the  most  barbarous  nations.  I  did  not  say  they 
proved  the  truth  of  the  Mosaic  account  of  the  deluge,  that  is  to 
say,  of  the  history  of  the  Ark  of  iSToah,  and  the  preservation  of 
animal  life.  This  is  revelation  ;  and  no  facts,  that  I  know  of,  have 
been  discovered  in  science  that  bear  upon  this  question,  and  the 
sacred  history  of  the  race  of  Shem.  My  idea  was  to  give  to  Csesar 
what  belonged  to  Caesar,  &c.,  &c.,  and  not  to  blend  divine  truths 
with  tlie  fancies  of  men. 

I  met  Coleridge  this  morning,  looking  very  well.  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  years.  He  has  promised  to  dine  with  me  on  Mon- 
day.        ^         ^         '^' 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

H.  Davy. 
June  11th,  1823." 

Sir  H.  Davy  was  the  chief  agent  in  prevailing  on  Mr.  Coleridge 
to  give  a  course  of  lectures  on  Shakspeare,  at  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion, which  he  did,  eighteen  in  number,  in  the  year  1808.  Sir  H. 
D.,  in  writing  to  Mr.  Poole,  this  year,  thus  refers  to  him. 

*'  Coleridge,  after  disappointing  his  audience  twice  from  illness, 
is  announced  to  lecture  again  this  week.  He  has  suffered  greatly 
from  excessive  sensibility,  the  disease  of  genius.  His  mind  is  a 
wilderness,  in  w^iich  the  cedar  and  the  oak,  which  might  aspire  to 
the  skies,  are  stunted  in  their  growth  by  underwood,  thorns,  briers, 
and  parasitical  plants.  With  the  most  exalted  genius,  enlarged 
views,  sensitive  heart,  and  enlightened  mind,  he  will  be  the  victim 
of  want  of  order,  precision,  and  regularity.  I  cannot  think  of  him 
without  experiencing  the  mingled  feelings  of  admiration,  regard, 
and  pity." 

To  this  testimony  in  confirmation  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  intellectual 
eminence,  some  high  and  additional  authorities  will  be  added; 


220  REMINISCENCES   OP 


such  as  to  entitle  him  to  the  name  of  the  Great  Conversationalist 
Professor  Wilson  thus  writes  : 

"  If  there  be  any  man  of  great  and  original  genius  alive  at  this  moment,  in 
Europe,  it  is  S.  T.  Coleridge.  Nothing  can  surpass  the  melodious  richness  of 
words,  which  he  heaps  around  his  images ;  images  that  arc  not  glaring  in 
themselves,  but  which  are  always  affecting  to  the  very  verge  of  tears,  because 
they  have  all  been  formed  and  nourished  in  the  recesses  of  one  of  the  most 
deeply  musing  spirits,  that  ever  breathed  forth  its  inspirations,  in  the  majestic 
language  of  England." 

"  Not  less  marvellously  gifted,  though  in  a  far  different  manner,  is  Coleridge, 
who  by  a  strange  error  has  usually  been  regarded  of  the  same  (lake)  school. 
Instead,  like  Wordsworth,  of  seeking  the  sources  of  sublimity  and  beauty  in 
the  simplest  elements  of  humanit}',  he  ranges  thrcugh  all  history  and  science, 
investigating  all  that  has  really  existed,  and  all  that  has  had  foundation  only 
in  the  wildest,  and  strangest  minds,  combining,  condensing,  developing  and 
multiplying  the  rich  products  of  his  research  with  marvellous  facility  and 
skill ;  now  pondering  fondly  over  some  piece  of  exquisite  loveliness,  brou^rht 
from  an  unknown  recess  now  tracing  out  the  hidden  germ  of  the  eldest,  and 
most  barbaric  theories,  and  now  calling  fantastic  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep, 
where  they  have  slept  since  the  dawn  of  reason.  The  term  '  myriad-minded' 
which  he  has  happily  applied  to  Shakspeare,  is  truly  descriptive  of  himself 
He  is  not  one,  but  legion.  '  rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,'  richer  in  his  own  glo 
rious  imagination  and  sportive  fantasy.  There  is  nothing  more  wonderful  than 
the  facile  majesty  of  his  images,  or  rather  of  his  world  of  imagery,  which 
whether  in  his  poetry  or  his  prose,  start  up  before  us,  self-raised,  and  all  per 
feet,  like  the  palace  of  Aladdin.  He  ascends  to  the  sublimest  truths  by  a 
winding  track  of  sparkling  glory,  which  can  only  be  described  in  his  own 
language. 

'The  spirit's  ladder 
That  from  this  gross  and  visible  world  of  dust, 
Even  to  the  starry  world,  with  thousand  rounds 
Builds  itself  up;  on  v/liich  the  unseen  powers 
Move  up  and  down  on  heavenly  ministries — 
The  circles  in  the  circles,  that  approach 
Tlie  central  sun  from  ever  narrowing  orbit.' 

In  various  beauty  of  versification  he  has  never  been  exceeded.  Shaks- 
peare doubtless  in  liquid  sweetness  and  exquisite  continuity,  and  Milton  in 
pure  majesty  and  classic  grace — but  this,  in  one  species  of  verse  only ;  and 
taking  all  his  trials  of  various  metres,  the  sweUing  harmony  of  his  blank 
verse,  the  sweet  breathing  of  his  gentle  odes,  and  the  sibyl-like  flutter,  with 
the  murmuring  of  his  wizard  spells,  we  doubt  if  even  these  great  masters  have 
so  fully  developed  the  sources  of  the  English  tongue.  He  has  yet  completed 
no  adequate  memorial  of  his  genius,  yet  it  is  most  unjust  to  say  he  has  done 
httle  or  nothing. 

To  refute  this  assertion,  there  are  his  '  Wallenstein  ;'  his  love  poems  of  iii- 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  221 


tensest  beauty;  his  'Ancient  Mariner,'  with  his  touches  of  profoundest  ten- 
derness amidst  the  wildest  and  most  bewildering  terrors ;  his  holy  and  sweet 
tale  of '  Christabel,'  with  its  enchantments,  and  richer  humanities ;  the  depths, 
the  sublimities,  and  the  pensive  sweetness  of  his  '  Tragedy;'  the  heart-dilating 
sentiments  scattered  through  his  •  Friend  ;'  and  the  stately  imagery  which 
breaks  upon  us  at  every  turn  of  the  golden  paths  of  his  metaphysical  laby- 
rinth. And  if  he  has  a  power  v>'ithin  him  mightier  than  that  which  even 
these  glorious  creations  indicate,  shall  he  be  censured  because  he  has  deviated 
from  the  ordinary  course  of  the  age  in  its  development,  and  instead  of  com- 
mitting his  imaginative  wisdom  to  the  press,  has  delivered  it  from  his  living 
lips  1  He  has  gone  about  in  the  true  spirit  of  an  old  Greek  bard,  with  a  no- 
lle carelessness  of  self,  giving  lit  utterance  to  the  divine  spirit  within  him. 
Who  that  has  ever  heard  can  forget  him  1  His  mild  benignity,  the  unbounded 
variety  of  his  knowledge,  the  fast  succeeding  products  of  his  imagination,  the 
child-like  simplicity  with  which  he  lises  from  the  dryest  and  commonest  theme 
into  the  wildest  magniiicence  of  thought,  pouring  on  the  soul  a  stream  of 
beauty  and  wisdom  to  mellow  and  enrich  it  forever'?  The  seeds  of  poetry, 
the  materials  for  thinking,  which  he  has  thus  scattered,  will  not  perish.  The 
records  of  his  fame  are  not  in  books  only,  but  on  the  fleshly  tablets  of  young 
hearts,  who  will  not  suffer  it  to  die  even  in  the  general  ear,  however  base  and 
unfeeling  criticism  may  deride  their  gratitude." — 3-Ir.  Scrgeatit  Talfourd. 

Dr.  Dibdin  has  given  an  animated  description  of  Coleridge's 
lecturing  and  conversation,  Avhicli  concurs  with  i\e  universal 
opinion. 

"  I  once  came  from  Kensington  iii  a  snow-storm  to  hear  Mr.  Coleridge  lec- 
ture on  Shakspeare.  I  might  have  sat  as  wisely,  and  more  comfortably  by 
my  own  fireside — for  no  Coleridge  appeared. — I  shall  never  forget  the  effect 
his  conversation  made  upon  me  at  the  first  meeting,  at  a  dinner  party.  It 
struck  me  as  something  not  onl}-  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
but  an  intellectual  exhibition  altogether  matchless.  The  viands  were  un- 
usually costly,  and  the  banquet  was  at  once  rich  and  varied  ;  but  there  seemed 
to  be  no  dish  like  Coleridge's  conversation  to  feed  upon — and  no  information 
so  instructive  as  his  own.  The  orator  roiled  hhnself  up  as  it  were  in  his 
chair,  and  gave  the  most  unrestrained  indulgence  to  his  speech ;  and  how 
fraught  with  acuteness  and  originality  was  that  speech,  and  in  what  copious 
and  eloquent  periods  did  it  flov/.  The  auditors  seemed  to  be  wrapt  in  wonder 
and  delight,  as  one  conversation,  more  profound  or  clothed  in  more  forcible 
language  than  another,  fell  from  his  tongue.  He  spoke  nearly  for  two  hours 
Avith  unhesitating  and  uninterrupted  fluency.  As  I  returned  homewards,  to 
Kensington,  I  thought  a  second  Johnson  had  visited  the  earth,  to  make  wise 
the  sons  of  men ;  and  regretted  that  I  could  not  exercise  the  powers  of  a  sec- 
ond Bcswell  to  record  the  wisdom  and  the  eloquence  that  fell  from  the  ora- 
tor's lips. 

The  manner  of  Coleridge  was  emphatic  rather  than  dogmatic,  and  thus  he 


222  REMINISCENCES   OF 


J 


was  generally  and  satisfactorily  listened  to.  It  mi*rlit  be  said  of  Coleridge,  as 
Cowper  has  so  happily  said  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  that  he  was  '  the  warbler  of 
poetic  prose.'  There  was  always  this  characteristic  feature  in  his  multifarious 
conversation, — it  was  always  delicate,  reverend,  and  courteous.  The  chastest 
ear  could  drink  in  no  startling  sound  ;  the  most  serious  believer  never  had  hi.- 
bosom  ruffled  by  one  sceptical  or  reckless  assertion.  Coleridge  was  eminently 
simple  in  his  manner.  Thinking  and  speaking  were  his  delight;  and  h;: 
would  sometimes  seem,  during  the  more  fervid  movements  of  discourse,  to  b(. 
abstracted  from  all,  and  everything  around  and  about  him,  and  to  be  baskincr 
in  the  sunny  warmth  of  his  own  radiant  imagination." — Dr.  Dibdin. 

"  Last  Thursday,  my  uncle,  S.  T.  C.  dined  with  us ;  and and 

came  to  meet  him,     I  have  heard  him  more  brilliant,  but  he  was  very  line. 

and  delighted  both and very  much.     It  is  impossible  to  carr> 

oif.  or  commit  to  paper,  his  long  trains  of  argument ;  indeed  it  is  not  possiblt; 
to  understand  them,  he  lays  the  foundation  so  deep,  and  views  every  question 
in  so  original  a  manner.  Nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  principles  which  h- 
lays  down  in  morals  and  religion.  His  deep  study  of  scripture  is  very  aston- 
ishing ;  and were  but  as  children  in  his  hands,  not  merely  in 

general  views  of  theology,  but  in  minute  criticism.  *  *  *  Afterwards  in 
the  drawing-room,  he  sat  down  by  Professor  Rigaud,  with  whom  he  entered 
into  a  discussion  of '  Kant's  system  of  Metaphysics.'  The  little  knots  of  the 
company  were  speedily  silent.  Mr.  Coleridge's  voice  grew  louder ;  and,  ab- 
struse as  the  subje'bt  was,  yet  his  language  was  so  ready,  so  energetic,  anl 
eloquent,  and  his  illustrations  so  very  apt  and  apposite,  that  the  ladies  even 
paid  him  the  most  solicitous  and  respectful  attention,  *  *  ♦         * 

This  is  nearly  all  I  recollect  of  our  meeting  with  this  most  interesting,  mosi 
wonderful  man.     Some  of  his  topics  and  arguments  I  have  enumerated,  but! 
the  connection  and  the  words  are  lost.     And  nothing  that  I  can  say  can  givef 
any  notion  of  his  eloquence  and  manner." — Mr.  Justice  Coleridge. —  Tab!> 
Talk. 

"  To  the  honored  memory  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  the  Christian  Phi 
losopher,  who  through  dark  and  winding  paths  of  speculation  was  led  to  the 
light  in  order  that  others  by  his  guidance  might  reach  that  light,  without  pass- 
ing through  the  darkness,  these  sermons  on  the  work  of  the  Spirit  are  dedi- 
cated with  deep  thankfulness  and  reverence  by  one  of  the  many  pupils  whom 
his  writings  have  helped  to  discern  the  sacred  concord  and  unity  of  human 
and  Divine  truth. 

"  Of  recent  Enghsh  writers,  the  one  with  whose  sanction  I  have  chiefly  de- 
sired whenever  I  could,  to  strengthen  my  opinions,  is  the  great  religious  phi- 
losopher to  whom  the  mind  of  our  generation  in  England  owes  more  than  to 
any  other  man.  My  gratitude  to  him  I  have  endeavored  to  express  by  dedi- 
cating the  following  sermons  to  his  memory ;  and  the  offering  is  so  far  at 
least  appropriate,  in  that  the  main  work  of  his  Ufe  was  to  spiritualize,  not  only 
our  philosophy,  but  our  theology ;  to  raise  them  both  above  the  empiricism 
into  which  they  had  long  been  dwindhng,  and  to  set  them  free  from  the 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    JSOUTHEY.  223 


technical  trammels  of  logical  systems.  Wiietlier  he  is  as  much  studied  by  the 
genial  young  men  of  the  present  day.  as  he  was  twenty  or  thirt}'^  years  ago,  I 
have  no  adequate  means  of  judging :  but  our  theological  literature  teems  with 
errors,  such  as  could  hardly  have  been  committed  by  persons  whose  minds  had 
been  disciplined  by  his  philosophical  method,  and  had  rightly  appropriated  his 
principles.  So  far  too  as  my  observation  has  extended,  the  third  and  fourth 
volumes  of  his  '  Remains.'  thougli  they  were  hailed  with  delight  by  ArnclJ  on 
their  first  appearance,  have  net  yet  produced  their  proper  effect  en  the  intel- 
lect of  the  age.  It  may  be  that  the  rich  store  of  profound  and  beautiful 
thought  contained  in  them  has  been  weighed  down,  from  being  mixed  with  a 
few  opinions  on  points  of  Biblical  criticism,  likely  to  be  very  olTensive  to  per- 
sons who  know  nothing  about  the  history  of  the  Canon.  Some  of  these  opiii- 
ions,  to  which  Coleridge  himself  ascribed  a  good  deal  of  importance,  seem  to 
me  of  little  worth ;  some  to  be  decidedly  erronopus.  Philological  criticism, 
indeed  all  matters  requiring  a  laborious  and  accurate  investigation  of  detail-, 
were  alien  from  the  bent  and  habits  of  his  mind ;  and  his  exegetical  studies, 
such  as  they  were,  took  place  at  a  period  when  he  had  little  better  than  the 
meagre  Rationalism  of  Eichhorn  and  Bertholdt  to  help  him.  Of  the  opinion;5 
which  he  imbibed  from  them,  some  abode  with  him  tlirough  life.  These  how- 
ever, along  vvith  everything  else  that  can  justly  be  objected  to  in  the  '  Re- 
mains,' do  not  form  a  twentieth  part  of  the  whole,  and  may  easih'^  be  sepa- 
rated from  the  remainder.  Nor  do  they  detract  in  any  way  fi-om  the  sterling 
sense,  the  clear  and  far-sighted  discernment,  the  power  of  tracing  pvinciphs 
in  their  remotest  operations,  and  of  referring  all  things  to  their  first  i-rinciples, 
which  are  manifested  in  almost  eVcry  page,  and  from  which  v>^e  might  learn 
so  much.  There  may  be  some  indeed,  who  fancy  that  Coleridge's  day  is  gone 
by,  and  that  we  have  advanced  beyond  him.  I  have  seen  him  numbered, 
along  with  other  persons  who  would  have  been  no  less  surprised  at  tlieir  po- 
sition and  company,  among  the  pioneers  who  prepared  the  way  for  our  new 
theological  sc^iool.  This  fathering  of  Tractarianism,  as  it  is  termed,  upon 
Coleridge,  well  deserves  to  rank  beside  the  folly  v/hich  would  father  Rational- 
ism upon  Luther.  Coleridge's  far-reaching  vision  did  indeed  discern  the  best 
part  of  the  speculative  truths  which  our  new  school  has  laid  hold  on,  and  ex- 
aggerated and  perverted.  But  in  Coleridge's  field  of  view  they  were  com- 
prised along  with  the  comphmental  truths  which  limit  them,  and  in  their  con- 
junction and  co-ordination  with  which  alone  they  retain  the  beneficent  power 
of  truth.  He  saw  what  our  modern  theologians  see,  though  it  was  latent 
from  the  vulgar  eyes  in  his  days ;  but  he  also  saw  what  they  do  not  see,  w^hat 
they  have  closed  their  eyes  on ;  and  he  saw  far  beyond  them,  because  he  saw 
things  in  their  universal  principles  and  laws." — Rev.  Archdeacon  Charles 
Hare's  "  Mission  of  the  Comforter.'" — Prefoxe  pp.  13,  15.     Two  Vols.  Svo. 

These  various  testimonies  to  the  conversational  eminence  of  Mr. 
Coleridge,  and  from  men  the  best  qualified  to  decide,  must  satisfy 
every  mind,  that  in  this  one  quality  he  scarcely  ever  had  a  supe- 
rior, or  perhaps  an  equal.     In  the   103rd  No.  of  the  "Quarterly 


REMINISCENCES    OF 


Review,"  there  is  a  description  of  his  conversation,  evidently  writ- 
ten by  one  competent  to  judgx',  and  wlio  Aveli  knev/  the  subject  of 
liis  praise  ;  but  tliougli  the  writer's  language  is  highly  encomiastic, 
co: responding  with  iiis  eloquence,  yet  to  all  ^vho  knew  Coleridge, 
it  will  not  be  considered  as  exceeding  tlie  soberest  truth.  When 
iiivJ  Vv'j-.ere  are  such  descriptions  as  the  preceding  and  the  follow- 
ing to  be  found  ? 

'*  Perhaps  our  readers  iiuiy  have  heard  repeated  a  saying  of  Mr.  Words- 
Vv'orth,  '  that  many  men  of  hi-3  age  had  done  wonderful  tkhigs,  as  Davy, 
Scott,  Cuvier,  &c. ;  bnt  that  Coleridge  was  the  only  wonderful  vian  he  ever 
knew.'  Soaiething  of  course  must  be  allowed  in  this,  as  in  all  other  such 
c:\scs.  for  the  antithcsii ;  but  we  believe  the  fact  really  to  be,  that  the  greater 
part  of  those  who  have  occ^asionally  visited  3Ir  Coleridge,  have  left  him  with 
the  fcelin-^  akin  to  the  judgment  indi:;ated  in  the  above  remark.  They  admire 
t'le  man  more  than  his  Vv^orks.  or  the}^  forget  the  works  in  the  absorbing  im- 
pression made  by  the  living  author;  and  no  wonder.  Those  who  remember 
liim  in  hi^  more  vigorous  daj^'s.  can  bear  v/itness  to  the  peculiarity  and  tran- 
s.'endent  power  of  his  conversation ;d  eloquence.  It  was  unlike  anything  that 
could  be  heard  elsewhere ;  the  kind  was  different,  the  degree  was  different, 
the  manner  was  different.  The  boundless  range  of  scientific  knowledge,  the 
brilliancy  a)id  exquisite  nicety  of  iilastration,  tlie  deep  and  ready  reasoning, 
the  strangeness  and  immensity  of  bookish  lore,  were  not  all ;  the  dramatic 
s^ory,  the  joke,  the  pun,  the  festivity,  must  be  added ;  and  with  these,  the 
clerical-looking  dress,  the  thick  waving  silver  hair,  thej^outhful  colored  cheek, 
the  indefinable  mouth  and  lips,  the  quick  yet  stea.dy  and  penetrating  greenish 
gray  oye.  the  slow  and  continuous  enunciation,  and  the  everlasting  music  of 
his  tones, — all  went  to  make  up  the  image,  and  to  constitute  the  living  pres- 
ence of  the  man.  Even  now  his  conversation  is  characterized  by  all  the 
essentials  of  its  former  excellence  ;  there  is  the  same  individuality,  the  same 
unexpectedness,  the  same  universal  grasp  ;  nothing  is  too  high,  nothing  too 
low  for  it — it  glances  from  earth  to  heaven,  from  heaven  to  earth,  with  a 
speed  and  a  splendor,  an  ease  and  a  power,  which  almost  seemed  inspired." 

As  a  conclusion  to  these  honorable  testimonies,  it  may  be  added, 
the  wish  has  often  been  expressed,  that  more  ^vere  kno^vn  respect- 
ing Mr.  Coleridge's  school  and  college  life,  so  briefly  detailed  in 
his  "  Biographia."  There  was  one  friend  of  whom  he  often  used 
to  talk,  r#nd  always  with  a  kind  feeling,  who  sat  next  to  him  at 
Christ  Church  School,  and  who  afterwards  accompanied  him  to 
Cambridge,  where  their  friendship  was  renewed,  and  their  inter- 
course uninterrupted.  This  gentleman  was  the  Rev.  C.  Y.  Le 
Grice,  the  respected  and  erudite  incumbent  of  a  living  near  Pen- 


s.  T.  coleridgp:  and  R.  SOUTHEY.  225 


zance.  Mr.  Le  G.  might  contribute  largely  toward  the  elucidation 
of  Mr.  Coleridge's  school  and  college  life ;  but  as  the  much  has 
been  denied,  we  must  be  thankful  for  the  little.  The  following 
are  Mr.  Le  Grice's  brief,  but  interesting  notices  of  his  friend : 

"  Mr.  Urban. 

In  the  various  and  numerous  memoirs,  which  have  been  published  of  the 
late  Mr.  Coleridge,  I  have  been  surprised  at  the  accuracy  in  many  respects, 
and  at  the  same  time  their  omission  of  a  very  remarkable,  and  a  very  honor- 
able anecdote  in  his  history.  In  the  memoir  of  him  in  your  last  number,  you 
do  not  merely  omit,  but  you  give  an  erroneous  account  of  this  very  circum- 
stance to  v^^Iiich  I  mean  to  allude.  You  assert  that  he  did  not  obtain,  and  in- 
deed did  not  aim  to  obtain,  the  honors  of  the  University.  So  far  is  this  from 
the  fact,  that  in  his  Freshman's  year  he  won  the  gold  medal  for  the  Greek 
Ode ;  and  in  his  second  year  he  became  a  candidate  for  the  Craven  scholar- 
ship, a  University  scholarship,  for  which  undergraduates  of  any  standing  are 
entitled  to  become  candidates.  This  was  in  the  winter  of  1792.  Out  of  six- 
teen or  eighteen  competitors  a  selection  of  four  was  made  to  contend  for  the 
prize,  and  these  four  were  Dr.  Butler,  now  the  Head  Master  of  Shrewsbury ; 
Dr.  Keate,  the  late  Head  Master  of  Eton ;  Mr.  13ethell,  the  late  Member  for 
Yorkshire;  and  S.  T.  Coleridge.     Dr.  Butler  was  the  successful  candidate. 

Pause  a  moment  in  Coleridge's  history,  and  think  of  him  at  this  period  ! 
Butler  !  Keate  !  Bethell !  and  Coleridge  !  !  How  different  the  career  of  each 
in  future  life  !  O  Coleridge,  through  what  strange  paths  did  the  meteor  of 
genius  lead  thee  !  Pause  a  moment,  ye  distinguished  men  !  and  deem  it  not 
the  least  bright  spot  in  your  happier  career,  that  you  and  Coleridge  were  once 
rivals,  and  for  a  moment  running  abreast  in  the  pursuit  of  honor.  I  believe 
that  his  disappointment  at  this  crisis  damped  his  ardor.  Unfortunately,  at 
that  period  there  was  no  classical  Tripos ;  so  that  if  a  person  did  not  obtain 
the  classical  medal,  he  was  thrown  back  among  the  totally  undistinguished ; 
and  it  was  not  allowable  to  become  a  candidate  for  the  classical  medal  unless 
you  had  taken  a  respecta.ble  degree  in  mcithematics.  Coleridge  had  not  the 
least  taste  for  these,  and  here  his  case  was  hopeless ;  so  that  he  despaired  of  a 
Fellowship,  and  gave  up,  what  in  his  heart  he  coveted,  college  honors,  and  a 
college  hfe.  He  had  seen  his  schoolfellow  and  dearest  friend,  Middleton,  (late 
Bishop  of  Calcutta,)  quit  Pembroke  under  similar  circumstances.  Not  quite 
similar,  because  Middleton  studied  mathematics  so  as  to  take  a  respectable 
degree,  and  to  enable  him  to  try  for  the  medal ;  but  he  failed,  and  therefore  all 
hopes  failed  of  a  Fellowship  —  most  fortunately,  as  it  proved  in  after  life,  for 
Middleton,  though  he  mourned  at  the  time  most  deeply,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
Middleton,  which  is  another  name  for  Misfortune  !  " 

'  There  is  a  Providence  which  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  how  you  will.' 

That,  which  Middleton  deemed  a  misfortune,  drew  him  from  the  cobwebs  of  a 
college  library  to  the  active  energies  of  a  useful  and  honored  life.     But  to  re- 

10^^ 


926  REMINISCENCES    OF 


turn  to  Coleridge.  When  he  quitted  college,  which  he  did  before  he  hud  takei 
a  degree,  in  a  moment  of  mad  caprice  —  it  was  indeed  an  inauspicious  hour! 
'  In  an  inauspicious  hour  I  left^the  friendly  cloisters,  and  the  happy  grove  of 
quiet,  ever  honored  Jesus  College,  Cambridge.'  Short,  but  deep  and  heartfeW 
reminiscence  !  In  a  literary  Life  of  himself  this  short  memorial  is  all  tha 
Coleridge  gives  of  his  happy  days  at  college.  Say  not,  that  he  did  not  obtain,! 
and  did  not  wish  to  obtain,  classical  honors  !  He  did  obtain  them,  and  was 
eagerly  ambitious  of  them ;  but  he  did  not  bend  to  that  discipline  wlii^h  was 
to  qualify  him  for  the  whole  course.  He  was  very  studious,  but  his  reading 
was  desultory  and  capricious.  He  took  little  exercise  merely  for  the  sake  of 
exercise  ;  but  he  was  ready  at  any  time  to  unbend  his  mind  in  conversation, 
and  for  the  sake  of  this,  his  room  (the  ground-floor  room  on  the  right  hand  of 
the  staircase  facing  the  great  gate)  was  a  constant  rendezvous  of  conversation 
loving  friends,  I  will  not  call  them  loungers,  for  they  did  not  call  to  kill  time, 
but  to  enjoy  it.  What  evenings  have  I  spent  in  those  rooms  !  What  little 
suppers,  or  siziJigs,  as  they  were  called,  have  I  enjoyed ;  when  ^Eschylus, 
and  Plato,  and  Thucydides  were  pushed  aside,  with  a  pile  of  lexicons,  &c.,  to 
discuss  the  pamphlets  of  the  day.  Ever  and  anon  a  pamphlet  issued  from  the 
pen  of  Burke,  There  was  no  need  of  having  the  book  before  us.  Coleridge 
had  read  it  in  the  morning ;  and  in  the  evening  he  would  repeat  whole  pages 
verbatim.  Trend's  trial  was  then  in  progress.  Pamphlets  swarmed  from  the 
press.  Coleridge  had  read  them  all ;  and  in  the  evening,  with  our  negus,  we 
had  them  viva  voce  gloriously.  O  Coleridge  !  it  w^as  indeed  an  inauspicious 
hour  when  you  quitted  the  friendly  cloisters  of  Jesus.  The  epithet  '  friendly' 
implied  what  you  were  thinking  of,  when  you  thought  of  college.  To  ^ou, 
Coleridge,  your  contemporaries  were  indeed  friendly,  and  I  believe,  that  in 
your  literary  life  you  have  passed  over  your  college  life  so  briefly,  because  you 
wished  to  banish  from  your  view  the  '  visions  of  long-departed  joys.'  To 
enter  into  a  description  of  your  college  days  would  have  called  up  too  sadly 
to  your  memory  '  the  hopes  which  once  shone  bright.'  and  would  have  made 
your  heart  sink. 

Yours,  &c., 

C.  V.  Lc  Grice. 
P.  S. — I  was  a  witness  to  the  breathless  delight  with  which  he  hastened  to 
give  his  friends  intelligence  of  his  success.     The  following  Hues,  in  his  •'  Ver- 
ses written  in  Early  Youth,"  are  a  memorial  of  the  pleasure,  which  he  felt  in    I 
the  sympathy  of  one  who  was  then  most  dear  to  him  : —  ■ 

"  With  faery  wand,  O  bid  the  maid  arise, 
Chaste  joyance  dancing  in  her  bright  bkie  eyes. 
As  erst,  when,  from  the  Muse's  cahn  abode, 
I  came  with  learning's  meed  not  unbestowed." 

See  Poems,  Edit.  1805,  p.  34.  ' 

He  wrote,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  for  the  prize  in  the  ensuing  year ;  but 
It  was  most  deservedly  given  to  Keate's  beautiful  Ode.  The  subject  Laus 
Astronomiae.  No  one  was  more  convinced  of  the  propriety  of  the  decision 
than  Coleridge  himself.     He  used  to  repeat  Ramsden's  Greek  Ode  on  Gibral- 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R,    SOUTHEY.  227 


tar,  and  Smith's  Latin  one  on  Mare  Liberum,  with  incessant  rapture.     It 
would  have  been  his  glory  to  have  caught  their  spirit.     He  was  absorbed  in 
these  tilings.    A  Classical  Tripos  would  have  changed  Coleridge's  destiny." 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  Dec.  1834. 

The  reader's  attention  will  now  be  directed  to  Mr.  Coleridge 
after  he  left  Malta,  when  he  visited  Bristol  in  the  year  1807.  I 
accidentally  learned  that  Mr.  C.  had  returned  to  England,  not  in 
good  health,  and  that  he  was  at  Mr.  Poole's,  when  I  addressed  a 
letter  to  him,  expressing  a  hope  that  his  health  would  soon  allow 
him  to  pay  me  a  visit,  in  Bristol.     To  this  letter  he  thus  replied  : 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

On  my  return  to  Bristol,  whenever  that  may  be,  I  will  certainly 
give  you  the  right  hand  of  old  fellowship  ;  but,  alas  !  you  will 
find  me  the  wretched  Avreck  of  Avhat  you  knew  me,  rolling,  rud- 
derless. My  health  is  extremely  bad.  Pain  I  have  enough  of, 
but  that  is  indeed  to  me,  a  mere  trifle,  but  the  almost  unceasing 
overpowering  sensations  of  wretchedness  :  achings  in  my  limbs, 
with  an  indescribable  restlessness,  that  makes  action  to  any  avail- 
able purpose,  almost  impossible :  and  worst  of  all  the  sense  of 
blighted  utility,  regrets,  not  remorseless.  But  enough  ;  yea,  more 
than  enough  ;  if  these  things  produce,  or  deepen  the  conviction 
of  the  utter  powerlessness  of  ourselves,  and  that  we  either  perish 
or  find  aid  from  something  that  passes  understanding. 

Affectionately, 

S.  T.  C." 

The  preceding  letter  of  Mr.  Coleridge  led  me  to  anticipate  a 
worse  state  of  health,  on  his  arrival  in  Bristol,  than  appearances 
authorized.  I  knew  nothing  of  opium,  and  was  pleased  to 
notice  the  clearness  of  his  understanding,  as  well  as  much  struck 
with  the  interesting  narratives  he  gave  of  Malta,  Italy,  and  his 
voyage  to  England.  I  knev/  that  Mr.  C.  was  somewhat  in  the 
habit  of  accommodating  his  discourse  to  the  sentiments  of  the 
persons  with  whom  he  was  conversing  ;  but  his  language  was 
now  so  pious  and  orthodox,  that  the  contrast  between  his  past  and 
present  sentiments  was  most  noticeable.  He  appeared  quite  an 
improved  character,  and  was  about,  I  thought,  to  realize  the 
best  hopes  of  his  friends.     I  found  him  full  of   future  activity. 


228  REMINISCENCES   OK 


projecting  new  works,  and  particularly  a  '  New  Review,'  of  which 
he  himself  was  to  be  the  Editor  !  At  this  time  not  one  word  was 
said  about  opium,  Colerton,  Otteiy,  or  Mrs.  Coleridge,  and  I 
thought  the  prospect  never  appeared  so  cheering. 

In  my  state  of  exultation,  I  invited  Mr.  P'oster  to  come  to 
Bristol,  from  Frome,  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  the  improved 
and  travelled  Mr.  Coleridge.     Mr.  Foster's  reply  is  here  given. 

"Frome,  June,  1807. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  am  very  unfortunate  in  having  made  an  engagement,  two  or 
three  weeks  back,  to  go  just  at  this  time  on  a  very  particular  oc- 
casion, to  a  distant  place  in  this  county,  and  therefore  being  de- 
])rived  of  the  very  high  luxury  to  which  you  so  kindly  invite  me. 
I  shall  be  unavoidably  detained  for  a  very  considerable  time,  and 
my  imagination  will  strongly  represent  to  me  the  pleasure  and 
iidvantage  of  which  an  inevitable  necessity  depri^'es  me.  But  I 
v.'ill  indulge  the  hope,  that  I  shall  sometime  be  known  to  Mr. 
Coleridge  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  in  a  literary 
respect,  than  I  can  at  present,  after  a  regular  application  to  the 
severer  order  of  studies  shall  in  some  measure  have  retrieved  the 
consequences  of  a  very  loose  and  indolent  intellectual  discipline, 
iiiid  shall  have  lessened  a  certain  feeling  of  imbecility  which 
always  makes  me  shrink  from  attempting  to  gain  the  notice  of 
i]ien  whose  talents  I  admire. 

'No  man  can  feel  a  more  animated  admiration  of  Mr.  Coleridge 
than  I  have  retained  ever  since  the  tvfo  or  three  times  that  I  was 
a  little  while  in  his  company  ;  and  during  his  absence  in  the  south 
and  the  east,  I  have  very  often  thought  wdth  delight  of  the  im- 
mense acquisitions  which  he  would  at  length  bring  back  to  enrich 
tiic  works,  which  I  trust  the  public  will  in  due  time  receive  from 
biim,  and  to  which  it  has  an  imperious  claim.  And  still  I  trust  he 
will  feel  the  solemn  duty  of  making  his  very  best  and  continued 
eiibrts  to  mend  as  well  as  delis^ht  mankind,  now  that  he  has 
attained  the  complete  mastery  and  expansion  of  his  admirable 
powers.  You  do  not  fail,  I  hope,  to  urge  him  to  devote  himself 
strenuously  to  literary  labor.  He  is  able  to  take  a  station  amongst 
the  most  elevated  ranks,  either  of  the  philosophers  or  the  poets. 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY. 


Pray  tell  me  what  are  his  immediate  intentions,  and  whether  he 
has  any  important  specific  undertaking  in  hand.  For  the  sake  of 
elegant  hteratm'e,  one  is  very  glad  that  he  has  had  the  opportunity 
of  visiting  those  most  interesting  scenes  and  objects  which  you 
mention.  Will  you  express  to  him  in  the  strongest  terms,  my 
respect  and  my  animated  wishes  for  his  health,  his  happiness,  and 
his  utility.  You  can  inform  me  what  is  the  nature  of  that  literary 
project  to  which  you  allude.  Tell  me  also,  what  is  the  state  and 
progress  of  your  own  literary  projects,  and,  I  hope  I  may  say, 
labors.  I  behaved  shabbily  about  some  slight  remarks  which  I 
was  to  have  ventured  on  Mr.  South ey's  '  Madoc,'  in  the  '  Eclectic 
Review.'  On  reading  the  ciitiques  in  the  ^ Edinburgh  Review,' 
on  '  Thalaba '  and  '  Madoc,'  I  found  vfhat  were  substantially  my 
own  impressions,  so  much  better  developed  than  I  could  have 
done,  that  I  instantly  threw  my  remarks  away.  Let  me  hear  from 
you  when  you  have  half  an  hour  of  leisure,  and  believe  me  to  be, 
with  every  kind  remembrance  to  your  most  excellent  family,  my 
dear  sir. 

Most  cordially  yours, 
To  Joseph  Cottle.  John  Foster." 

•    ♦ 

Some  weeks  after,  Mr.  Coleridge  called  on  me ;  when,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  he  entered  into  some  observations  on  his* 
own  character,  that  made  him  appear  unusually  amiable.  He 
said  that  he  was  naturally  very  arrogant ;  that  it  was  his  easily 
besettinof  sin ;  a  state  of  mind  which  he  ascribed  to  the  severe 
subjection  to  which  he  had  been  exposed,  till  he  was  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  from  which  his  own  consciousness  of  superiority 
made  him  revolt.  He  then  stated  that  he  had  renounced  all  his 
Unitarian  sentiments  ;  that  he  considered  Unitarianism  as  a  heresy 
of  the  worst  description  ;  attempting  in  vain  to  reconcile  sin  and 
holiness  ;  the  world  and  heaven  ;  opposing  the  w^hole  spirit  of 
the  Bible  ;  and  subversive  of  all  that  truly  constituted  Christianity. 
At  this  interview  he  professed  his  deepest  conviction  of  the  truth 
of  Revelation  ;  of  the  Fall  of  Man  ;  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ, 
and  redemption  alone  through  his  blood.  To  hear  these  sen- 
timents so  exphcitly  avowed,  gave  me  unspeakable  pleasure, 
and  formed  a  new,  and  unexpected,  and  stronger  bond  of  union. 


5230  REMINISCENCES   OF 


A  long  and  highly  interesting  theological  conversation  followed, 
in  which  Mr.  C.  proved,  that,  however  weak  his  body,  the  intel- 
lectual vigor  of  his  mind  was  unimpaired.  He  exhibited,  also, 
more  sobriety  of  manner  than  I  had  before  noticed  in  him,  with 
an  improved  and  impressive  maturity  in  his  reflections,  expressed 
in  his  happiest  language  ;  and  which,  could  it  have  been  accurately 
recorded,  would  have  adorned  the  most  splendid  of  his  pages ; — 
so  rare  and  pre-eminent  was  the  powerful  and  spontaneous  utter- 
ance with  which  tliis  gifted  son  of  genius  wa^  endowed. 

Mr.  Colerido-e,  at  his  next  visit,  related  to  me  some  of  his 
Italian  adventures  ;  one  or  two  of  which  I  here  introduce. 

After  quitting  Malta,  he  had  landed  in  Sicily,  and  visited  Etna ; 
his  ascent  up  whose  side,  to  the  crater,  he  graphically  described, 
with  some  striking  features ;  but  as  this  is  a  subject  proverbially 
enlarged  upon  by  al]  travellers,  I  waive  further  notice,  and  pro- 
ceed to  state,  that  Mr.  C.  after  leaving  Sicily  passed  over  to  the 
south  of  Italy,  and  journeyed  on  to  Rome. 

Shortly  after  Mr.  Coleridge  had  arrived  in  this  city,  he  attracted 
some  notice  amongst  the  literati,  as  an  English  "  Man  of  Letters." 
Cardinal  Fesch,  in  particular,  was  civil,  and  sought  his  company ; 
^b^t  that  which  was  more  remarkable,^  Jerome  Bonaparte  was 
then  a  resident  at  Rome,  and  Mr.  C.'s  reputation  becoming  known 
•to  him,  he  sent  for  him,  and  after  showing  him  his  palace, 
pictures,  (fee,  thus  generously  addressed  him  :  ''  Sir,  I  have  sent 
for  you  to  give  you  a  little  candid  advice.  I  do  not  know  that 
you  have  said,  or  written  anything  against  my  brother  Napoleon, 
but  as  an  Englishman,  the  supposition  is  not  unreasonable.  If 
you  have,  my  advice  is,  that  you  leave  Italy  as  soon  as  you 
possibly  can !" 

This  hint  was  gratefully  received,  and  Mr.  Coleridge  soon  after 
quitted  Rome,  in  the  suite  of  Cardinal  Fesch.  From  his  anxiety 
to  reach  England,  he  proceeded  to  Leghorn,  where  a  circumstance 
occurred  which  will  excite  every  reader's  sympathy.  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge had  journeyed  to  this  port,  where  he  rather  hoped,  than 
expected,  to  find  some  conveyance,  through  the  medium  of  a 
neutral,  that  should  waft  him  to  the  land  "more  prized  than 
ever."  The  hope  proved  delusive.  The  war  was  now  raging 
between  England  and  France,  and  Bonaparte  being  lord  of  the 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  231 


ascendant  in  Italy,  Mr.  Coleridge's  situation  became  insecure,  and 
even  perilous.  To  obtain  a  passport  was  impossible ;  and  as  Mr. 
C.  had  formerly  rendered  himself  obnoxious  to  the  great  Captain 
by  some  political  papers,  he  was  in  daily  and  hourly  expectation 
of  being  incarcerated  in  an  Italian  prison,  vvhich  would  have  been 
the  infallible  road  to  death  ! 

In  half  despair  of  ever  again  seeing  his  family  and  friends,  and 
under  the  constant  dread  of  apprehension  by  the  emissaries  of  the 
Tuscan  government,  or  French  spies ;  he  went  out  one  morning 
to  look  at  some  ruins  in  the  neighborhood  of  Leghorn,  in  a  state 
of  despondency,  where  certainty  however  terrible,  would  have 
been  almost  preferable  to  suspense.  While  musing  on  the  rava- 
ges of  time,  he  turned  his  eye,  and  observed  at  a  little  distance, 
a  sea-faring  looking  man,  musing  in  silence,  like  himself,  on  the 
waste  around.  Mr.  Coleridge  advanced  towards  him,  supposing, 
or  at  least  deeming  it  possible,  that  he  also  might  be  mourning 
his  captivity,  and  commenced  a  discourse  with  him  ;  when  he 
found  that  the  stranger  was  an  American  captain,  whose  ship  was 
then  in  the  harbor,  and  on  the  point  of  sailing  for  England. 

This  information  sent  joy  into  his  heart;  but  he  testified  no 
emotion,  determined  to  obtain  the  captain's  good  will,  by  showing 
him  all  the  civilities  in  his  power,  as  a  preliminary  to  any  future 
service  the  captain  might  be  disposed  to  render  him,  whether  the 
power  were  united  with  the  disposition  or  not.  This  showed 
adroitness,  with  great  knowledge  of  human  nature  ;  and  more 
winning  and  captivating  manners  than  those  of  Mr.  C,  when 
called  forth,  were  never  possessed  by  mortal  I  In  conformity 
with  this  almost  forlorn  hope,  Mr.  Coleridge  explained  to  the 
American  captain  the  history  of  the  ruin  ;  read  to  him  some  of 
the  half  defaced  Latin  and  Italian  inscriptions,  and  concluded  with 
extolling  General  Washington,  and  predicting  the  stability  of  the 
Union.  The  right  keys,  treble  and  tenor,  were  touched  at  the 
same  moment.  '^  Pray  young  man,"  said  the  captain,  "  who  are 
you?"  Mr.  C.  replied,  "I  am  a  poor  unfortunate  Englishman, 
with  a  wife  and  family  at  home ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never 
see  them  more  !  I  have  no  passport,  nor  means  of  escape  ;  and, 
to  increase  my  sorrow,  I  am  in  daily  dread  of  being  thrown  into 
jaU,  when  those  I  love  will  not  have  the  last  pleasure  of  knowing 


232  REMINISCENCES    OF 


that  I  am  dead !"  The  captain's  heart  was  touched.  He  had  a 
wife  and  family  at  a  distance.  "  My  young  man,"  said  he,  "  what 
is  your  name  ?"  Tlie  reply  was,  ''  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge." 
"  Poor  young  man,"  answered  the  captain.  "  You  meet  me  at 
this  place  to-morrow  morning,  exactly  at  ten  o'clock."  So  saying, 
the  captain  withdrew.  Mr.  C.  stood  musing  on  the  singular  oc- 
currence, in  which  there  vras  something  inexplicable.  His  dis- 
cernment of  the  stranger's  character  convinced  him  there  existed 
no  under  jAot^  but  still  there  was  a  wude  space  between  prohahility 
and  certainty.  On  a  balance  of  circumstances,  he  still  thought 
all  fair,  and  at  the  appointed  hour,  repaired  to  the  interior  of  the 
ruins. 

No  captain  w^as  there ;  but  in  a  few  minutes  he  appeared,  and, 
hastening  up  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  exclaimed  exultingly,  ''  I  have  got 
your  passport !"  "  How  !  what !"  said  Mr.  C.  almost  overpowered 
by  his  feelings.  '*Ask  me  no  questions,"  replied  tlie  captain; 
*'  you  are  my  steward,  and  you  shall  sail  away  with  -me  to-mor- 
row morning !"  He  continued,  giving  him  his  address,  "  You 
come  to  my  house  to-morrov/  early,  vfhen  1  will  provide  you  with 
ix  jacket  and  trowsers,  and  you  shall  folio \v  me  to  the  ship  w^ith  a 
basket  of  vegetables. ^^  In  short,  thus  accoutred,  he  did  follow 
the  captain  to  the  ship  the  next  morning  ;  and  in  three  hours  fairly 
sailed  out  of  Leghorn  harbor,  triumphantly  on  his  course  to 
England ! 

As  soon  as  the  ship  had  cleared  the  port,  Mr.  Coleridge  hast- 
ened dowui  to  the  cabin,  and  cried,  ''  My  dear  captain,  tell  me 
how  you  obtained  my  passport  ?"  Said  the  captain,  very  gravely, 
*'  Why,  I  went  to  the  authorities,  and  swore  that  you  were  an 
Amei'ican,  and  my  stew^ard  !  I  swore  also,  that  I  knew  your  fa- 
ther and  mother ;  that  they  lived  in  a  red-brick  house,  about  half 
a  mile  out  of  New  York,  on  the  road  to  Boston  !" 

It  is  gratifying  to  add,  that  this  benevolent  little-scrupulous 
captain  refused  to  accept  anything  from  Mr.  C.  for  his  passage  to 
England ;  and  behaved  in  many  other  respects,  with  the  same 
uniform  kindness.  During  the  voyage,  Mr.  Coleridge  told  me, 
he  was  attacked  with  a  dangerous  illness,  when  he  thought  he 
should  have  died  but  for  the  '*  good  captain,'"  who  attended  him  with 
the  sohcitude  of  a  father.     Mr.  C.  also  said,  had  he  known  what 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  233 


the  captain  was  going  to  swear,  whatever  the  consequences  might 
have  been,  he  would  have  prevented  him/'* 
The  following  letter  will  be  read  with  interest. 

''Bristol,  1807. 
Dear  Cottle, 

To  pursue  our  last  conversation.  Christians  expect  no  outward 
or  sensible  miracles  from  prayer.  Its  effects,  and  its  fruitions  are 
spiritual,  and  accompanied,  savs  that  true  iJivine,  Archbisliop 
Leighton,  '  not  by  reasons  and  arguments,  but  by  an  inexpressible 
kind  of  evidence,  which  they  only  knovr  who  have  it.' 

To  this  I  would  add,  tliat  even  those  vrlio,  like  me  I  fear,  have 
not  attained  it,  yet  may  pi'esume  it.  First,  because  reason  itself, 
or  rather  mere  human  nature,  in  any  dispassionate  moment,  feels 
the  necessity  of  religion,  but  if  this  be  not  true  there  is  no  relig- 
•ion,  no  religation,  or  binding  over  again  ;  nothing  added  to  rea- 
son, and  therefore  Sociniamsrn,  misnamed  Unitarianisrn,  is  not 
only  not  Christianity ,  it  is  not  even  rcliniori,  it  does  not  reli^/ate  ; 
does  not  bind  anew.  The  first  outward  and  sensible  result  of 
prayer  is,  a  penitent   resolution,   j-jined  with   a  consciousness  of 

*  It  was  a  remarkable  quality  in  I\Ir.  Coleiiage's  mind  that  edifices  excited 
little  interest  in  him.  On  his  return  froin  Italy,  and  after  having  resided  for 
some  time  in  Ronie.  I  remember  his  describing  to  me  the  state  of  society ;  the 
characters  of  the  Pope  and  Cardinals ;  tlie  gorgeous  ceremonies,  with  the  su- 
perstitions of  the  people;  but  not  one  v*^ord  did  he  utter  concerning  St.  Peters, 
the  Vatican,  or  the  numerous  aniiqiiiiics  of  tlie  place.  As  a  further  confir- 
mation, I  remember  to  have  been  v/ith  Mr.  Coleridge  at  York  oti  our  journey 
into  Durham,  to  see  Mr,  Wordswortli,  when,  after  l-reakfast  at  the  inn,  per- 
ceiving Mr.  C.  engaged,  I  went  out  alone,  to  see  the  York  Minster^  being,  in 
the  way,  detained  in  a  bookseller's  shop.  In  the  meantime,  Mr.  C.  having 
missed  me,  he  set  off  in  search  of  his  companion.  Supposing  it  probable  that 
I  was  gone  to  the  Minster,  he  went  up  to  the  door  of  that  magnificent  struc- 
ture, and  inquired  of  the  porter,  whether  such  an  individual  as  myself  had 
gone  in  there.  Being  answered  in  the  negative,  he  had  no  fur '.her  cv.riod.'y, 
not  even  looJcin^  into  the  h\ierioi\  but  turned  away  to  pursue  his  search  !  so 
that  Mr.  C.  left  York,  without  beholding,  or  wishing  to  behold,  the  chief  at- 
traction of  the  city,  or  being  at  all  conscious  that  he  had  committed,  by  his 
Tit^tct^  high  treason  agoAnst  all  architedin-al  beauty!  This  deficiency  in  his 
regard  for  edifices,  while  he  was  feverishly  alive  to  all  the  operations  of  mind, 
and  to  all  intellectual  inquiries,  formed  a  striking  and  singular  feature  in  Mr. 
Coleridge's  mental  constitution  worthy  of  being  noticed. 


234  REMINISCENCES   OF 


weakness  in  effecting  it,  yea  even  a  dread,  too  well  grounded,  lest 
by  breaking  and  falsifying  it,  the  soul  sliould  add  guilt  to  guilt  f 
by  the  very  means  it  has  taken  to  escape  from  guilt ;  so  pitiable 
is  the  state  of  unregenerate  man. 

Are  you  familiar  with  Leighton's  AVorks  ?  He  resigned  his 
archbishoprick,  and^ietired  to  voluntary  poverty,  on  account  of 
the  persecutions  of  the  Presbyterians,  saying,  *I  should  not  dare 
to  introduce  Christianity  itself  with  such  cruelties,  how  much  less 
for  a  surplice,  and  the  name  of  a  bishop.'^  If  there  could  be  an 
intermediate  space  between  inspired,  and  uninspired  writings,  that 
space  Avquld  be  occupied  by  Leighton.  iSo  show  of  learning,  no 
'appearance,  oi-  ostentatious  display  of  eloquence,  and  yet  both 
may  be  shown  in  him,  conspicuously  and  hohly.  There  is  in  him 
something  that  must  be  felt,  even  as  the  Scriptures  must  be  felt. 

You  ask  me  my  views  of  the  Trhiity,  I  accept  the  doctrine, 
not  as  deduced  from  human  reason,  in  its  grovelling  capacity  for 
comprehending  spiritual  things,  but  as  the  clear  revelation  of 
Scripture.  But  perhaps  it  may  be  said,  the  Socinians  do  not  ad- 
mit this  doctrine  as  beino-  tauo-ht  in  the  Bible.  I  know  enourfi  of 
their  shifts  and  quibbles,  witli  their  dexterity  at  explaining  away 
all  they  dislike,  and  that  is  not  a  little;  but  though  beguiled  once 
by  them,  I  happil}^  for  my  own  peace  of  m^ind,  escaped  from  their 
sophistries,  and  novr  hesitate  not  to  aiTirm,  that  Socinians  would 
lose  all  character  for  honesty,  if  they  vrere  to  explslin  their  neigh- 
bor's will  with  the  same  latitude  of  interpretation,  w'hich  they  do 
the  Scriptures. 

1  ha^  e  in  my  head  some  iioating  ideas  on  the  Logos,  which  I 
hope,  hereafter,  to  mould  into  a  consistent  form  ;  but  it  is  a  gross 
perversion  of  the  truth,  in  Socinians,  to  declare  that  we  believe  in 
three  Gods  ;  and  they  knovr  it  to  be  false.  They  might,  with  equal 
justice,  affirm  that  we  believe  in  three  suns.  The  meanest  peasant, 
who  has  acquired  the  first  rudiments  of  Christianity,  would  shrink 
back  from  a  thing  so  m^onstrous.  Still  the  Trinity  has  its  difficul- 
ties. It  would  be  strange  if  otherwise.  A  Revelation  that  re- 
vealed nothing,  not  within  the  grasp  of  human  reason  ! — no  reli- 
gation,  no  binding  over  again,  as  before  said  ;  but  these  difficul- 
ties are  shadov/s,  contrasted  with  the  substantive  and  insurmount- 
able obstacles,  with  w^hich  thej/  contend  who  admit  the  Divine  an- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  -235 


thority  of  Scripture,  with  the  superlative  excellence  of  Christ,  and 
yet  undertake  to  prove-  that  these  Scriptures  teach,  and  that 
Christ  taught  his  own  pure  humanity. 

If  Jesus  Christ  was  merely  a  man.  if  he  was  not  God  as  well  as 
man,  be  it  considered,  he  could  not  have  been  even  a  good  man. 
There  is  no  medium.  The  Saviour  in  that  case  was  absolutely  a 
deceiver !  one,  transcendently  unrighteous !  in  advancing  preten- 
sions to  miracles,  by  the  *  Finger  of  God,'  which  he  never  per- 
formed ;  and  by  asserting  claims  (as  a  man)  in  the  most  aggra- 
vated sense  blasphemous.  These  consequences,  Socinians,  to  be 
consistent,  must  allow,  and  which  impious  arrogation  of  Divinity 
in  Christ,  according  to  their  faith,  as  Avell  as  his  false  assumption 
of  a  community  of  '  glory'  with  the  Father,  '  before  the  world  was,' 
even  they  will  be  necessitated  completel}^  to  admit  the  exonera- 
tion of  the  Jews,  according  to  their  law,  in  crucifying  one,  who 
'  being  a  m.an,'  '  made  himself  God  !'  But  in  the  Christian,  rather 
than  in  the  Socinian,  or  Pharisaic  view,  all  these  objections  van- 
ish, and  harmony  succeeds  to  inexplicable  confusion.  If  Socini- 
ans hesitate  in  ascribing  unrighteousness  to  Christ,  the  inevitable 
result  of  their  principles,  they  tremble,  as  well  they  miglit,  at 
their  avowed  creed,  and  virtually  renounce  vv^hat  they  profess  to 
uphold. 

The  Trinity,  as  Bishop  Leighton  has  well  remarked,  is  '  a  doc- 
trine of  faith,  not  of  demonstration,'  except  in  a  moral  sense.  If 
the  Xew  Testament  declare  it,  not  in  an  insulated  passage,  but 
through  the  whole  breadth  of  its  pages,  rendering,  with  any  other 
admission,  the  book  which  is  the  Cliristian's  anchor-hold  of  hope, 
dark  and  contradictory,  then  it  is  not  to  be  rejected,  but  on  a  pen- 
alty that  reduces  to  an  atom,  all  the  sufferings  this  earth  can 
inflict. 

Let  the  grand  question  be  determined — Is,  or  is  not  the  Bible 
inspired  ?  No  one  book  has  ever  been  subjected  to  so  rigid  an 
investigation  as  the  Bible,  by  minds  the  most  capacious,  and  in 
the  result,  which  has  so  triumphantly  repelled  all  the  assaults  of 
infidels.  In  the  extensive  intercourse  which  I  have  had  with  this 
class  of  men,  I  have  seen  their  prejudices  surpassed  only  by  their 
ignorance.  This  I  found  particularly  the  case  in  Dr.  Darwin,  (p. 
1 — 65,)  the  prince  of  their  fraternity.     Without,  therefore,  stop- 


236  REMINISCENCES   OF 


])ing  to  contend  on  v.hat  all  dispassionate  men  must  deem  unde- 
batable  ground,  I  may  assume  inspii-ation  as  admitted ;  and 
equally  so,  that  it  v.ould  be  an  insult  to  man's  understanding,  to 
suppose  any  other  revelation  from  God  than  the  Christian  Scrip- 
tures. If  these  Scriptures,  impregnable  in  their  strength,  sus- 
tained in  their  pretensions,  by  undeniable  pro])hecies  and  miracles, 
and  by  the  experience  of  the  inner  man,  in  all  ages,  as  well  as  by 
a  concatenation  of  arguments,  all  bearing  upon  one  point,  and 
extending  v/ith  miraculous  consistency,  through  a  series  of  fifteen 
hundred  years ;  if  all  this  combined  proof  does  not  establish  their 
validity,  nothing  can  be  proved  under  tlie  sun ;  but  the  world  and 
man  must  be  abandoned,  with  all  its  consequences,  to  one  univer- 
sal scepticism  I  Under  such  sanctions,  therefore,  if  these  Scrip- 
tm'es,  as  a  fundamental  truth,  do  inculcate  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity  ;  however  surpassing  human  comprehension  ;  then  I  say, 
we  are  bound  to  admit  it  on  the  strength  of  moral  demonstration. 

The  Supreme  Governor  of  tlie  world  and  the  Father  of  our 
spirits,  has  seen  fit  to  disclose  to  us  much  of  his  Vvill,  and  the 
Avhole  of  his  natural  and  moral  perfections.  In  some  instances 
he  has  given  his  word  only,  and  demanded  our  faith  ;  while  on 
other  momentous  subjects,  instead  of  bestowing  full  revelation, 
like  the  Via  Lactea,  he  has  furnished  a  a'limpse  only,  through 
either  the  medium  of  inspiration,  or  by  tlie  exercise  of  those  ra- 
tional faculties  with  which  he  has  endowed  us.  I  consider  the 
Trinity  as  substantially  resting  on  the  first  proposition,  yet  deriv- 
ing support  from  the  la5t. 

I  recollect  when  I  stood  on  the  summit  of  Etna,  and  darted 
my  gaze  down  the* crater;  the  immediate  vicinity  was  discernible, 
till,  lower  down,  obscurity  gradually  terminated  in  total  darkness. 
Such  figures  exemplify  many  truths  revealed  in  tlie  Bible.  We 
pursue  them,  until  from  the  imperfection  of  our  faculties,  we  cire 
lost  in  impenetrable  night.  All  truths,  however,  that  are  essen- 
tial to  faith,  honestly  interpreted ;  all  that  are  important  to  human 
conduct,  under  every  diversity  of  circumstance,  are  manifest  as  a 
a  blazing  star.  The  promises  also  of  felicity  to  the  righteous  in 
the  future  world,  though  the  precise  nature  of  that  felicity  may 
not  be  defined,  are  illustrated  bv  every  image  that  can  swell  the 
imagination ;  while  the  misery  of  the  lost,  in  its  unutterable  intcn- 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE  AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  237 

sity,  though  the  language  that  describes  it  is  all  necessarily  figu- 
rative, is  there  exhibited  as  resulting  chiefly,  if  not  wholly,  from 
the  withdra\rment  of  the  light  of  GgcVs  countenance,  and  a  ban- 
i->hment  from  his  i^resence !  best  comprehended  in  this  world  by 
reflecting  on  the  desolations,  which  would  instantly  follow  the  loss 
of  the  sun's  vivifying  and  universally  diff'used  tvarinth. 

You,  or  rather  all,  should  remember  that  some  truths  from  their 
nature,  surpass  the  scope  of  man's  limited  powers,  and  stand  as 
the  criteria  of  faith,  determining  by  their  rejection,  or  admission, 
who  among  the  sons  of  men  can  confide  in  the  veracity  of  Heaven. 
Those  more  ethereal  truths,  of  which  the  Trinity  is  conspicuously 
the  chief,  without  being  circumstantially  explained,  may  be  faintly 
illustrated  by  material  objects.  The  eye  of  man  cannot  discern 
the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  nor  become  sensible  of  the  multitudinous 
stars,  whose  rays  have  never  reached  our  planet,  and  consequently 
garnish  not  the  canopy  of  night ;  yet  are  they  the  less  real, 
because  their  existence  lies  beyond  man's  unassisted  gaze  ?  The 
tube  of  the  philosopher,  and  the  celestial  telescope — the  unclouded 
visions  of  heaven  will  confirm  the  one  class  of  truths,  and  irradiate 
the  other. 

The  Trinity  is  a  subject  on  which  analogical  reasoning  may 
advantageously  be  admitted,  as  furnishing,  at  least  a  glimpse  of 
hght,  and  with  this,  for  the  present,  we  must  be  satisfied.  Infi- 
nite Wisdom  deemed  clearer  manifestations  inexpedient ;  and  is 
man  to  dictate  to  his  Maker  ?  I  may  further  remark,  that  where 
we  cannot  behold  a  desirable  object  distinctly,  we  must  take  the 
best  view  we  can ;  and  I  think  you,  and  every  candid  inquiring 
mind,  may  derive  assistance  from  such  reflections  as  the  following. 

Notwithstanding  the  arguments  of  Spinosa,  and  Des  Cartes, 
and  other  advocates  of  the  Material  system,  or  in  more  appropri- 
ate language,  the  Atheistical  system  I  it  is  admitted  by  all  men, 
not  prejudiced,  not  biased  by  sceptical  prepossessions,  that  mind 
is  distinct  from  matter.  The  mind  of  man,  however,  is  involved 
in  inscrutable  darkness,  (as  the  profoundest  metaphysicians  well 
know,)  and  is  to  be  estimated,  if  at  all,  alone  by  an  inductive 
process  ;  that  is,  by  its  effects.  Without  entering  on  the  question, 
whether  an  extremely  circumscribed  portion  of  the  mental  process, 
surpassing  instinct,  may  or  may  not  be  extended  to  quadrupeds, 


238  REMINISCENCES   OF 


it  is  universally  acknowledged,  that  the  mind  of  man  alone  regu- 
lates all  the  actions  of  his  corporeal  frame.  Mind,  there  fore,. may 
be  regarded  as  a  distinct  genus,  in  the  scale  ascending  above 
brutes,  and  including  the  whole  of  intellectual  existences ;  ad- 
vancing from  thought,  that  mysterious  thing !  in  its  lowest  form, 
through  all  the  gradations  of  sentient  and  rational  beings,  till  it 
arrives  at  a  Bacon,  a  Newton  ;  and  then,  when  unincumbered  by 
matter,  extending  its  illimitable  sway  through  Seraph  and  Arch- 
anofel,  till  w^e  are  lost  in  the  Great  Infinite. 

Is  it  not  deserving  of  notice,  as  an  especial  subject  of  medita- 
tion, that  our  limhs,  in  all  they  do  or  can  accomplish,  implicitly 
obey  the  dictation  of  the  mind  ?  that  this  operating  power,  what- 
ever its  name,  under  certain  limitations,  exercises  a  sovereign  do- 
minion not  only  over  our  limbs,  but  over  our  intellectual  pursuits  ? 
The  mind  of  every  man  is  evidently  the  fulcrum,  the  moving 
force,  w^hich  alike  regulates  all  his  limbs  and  actions :  and  in 
which  example,  w^e  find  a  strong  illustration  of  the  subordinate 
nature  of  mere  matter.  That  alone  which  gives  direction  to  the 
organic  parts  of  our  nature,  is  wholly  7nind ;  and  one  mind  if 
placed  over  a  thousand  limbs,  could,  w^ith  undiminished  ease,  con- 
trol and  regulate  the  w^iole. 

This  idea  is  advanced  on  the  supposition  that  one  mind  could 
command  an  unlimited  direction  over  any  given  number  of  limhs, 
provided  they  were  all  connected  by  joint  and  sinew.  But  sup- 
pose, through  some  occult  and  inconceivable  means,  these  limbs 
were  dis-associated,  as  to  all  material  connection  ;  suppose,  for 
instance,  one  mind  with  unlimited  authority,  governed  the  ope- 
rations of  tvjo  separate  persons,  would  not  this  substantially,  be 
only  one  ijermn,  seeing  the  directing  principle  was  one  ?  If  the 
truth  here  contended  for,  be  admitted,  that  two  persons,  governed 
by  one  mind,  is  incontestably  one  person  ;  the  same  conclusion 
would  be  arrived  at,  and  the  proposition  equally  be  justified,  which 
affirmed  that,  three.,  or  otherwise /ow/'  persons,  owning  also  neces- 
sary and  essential  subjection  to  one  mind,  would  only  be  so  many 
diversities  or  modifications  of  that  one  mind,  and  therefore,  the 
component  parts  virtually  collapsing  into  one  whole,  the  person 
w^ould  be  one.  Let  any  man  ask  himself,  whose  understanding 
can  both  reason  and  become  the  depository  of  truth,  whether,  if 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  239 


one  mind  thus  regulated  ^.vith  absolute  authority,  three,  or  other- 
wise/owr  persons,  witli  all  their  congeries  of  material  parts,  would 
not  these  parts  inert  in  themselves,  Avhen  subjected  to  one  pre- 
dominant mind,  be  in  the  most  logical  sense,  one  person  ?  Are 
ligament  and  exterior  combination  indispensable  pre-requisites  to 
the  sovereign  influence  of  mind  over  mind  ?  or  mind  over  matter  ? 

But  perhaps  it  may  be  said,  we  have  no  instance  of  one  mind 
governing  more  than  one  body.  This  may  be,  but  the  argument 
remains  the  same.  'With  a  proud  spirit,  that  forgets  its  own 
contracted  range  of  thought,  and  circumscribed  knowledge,  who 
is  to  limit  the  sway  of  Omnipotence  ?  or  presumptuously  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  that  Being,  who  called  light  out  of  darkness,  so^ 
to  exalt  the  dominion  of  one  mind,  as  to  give  it  absolute  sway  over 
other  dependent  minds,  or  (indifferently)  over  detached,  or  com- 
bined portions  of  organized  matter  ?  But  if  this  superinduced 
quality  be  conferable  on  any  order  of  created  beings,  it  is  blas- 
phemy to  limit  the  povrer  of  God,  and  to  deny  his  capacity  to 
transfuse  his  ovm  Spirit,  when  and  to  Vy^hom  he  will. 

This  reasoning  may  now  be  applied  in  illustration  of  the  Trinity. 
We  are  too  much  in  the  habit  of  viewing  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ, 
through  the  medium  of  his  body.  '  A  body  was  prepared  for  him,' 
but  this  body  was  mere  matter  ;  as  insensible  in  itself  as  every 
human  frame  when  deserted  by  the  soul.  If,  therefore,  the  Spirit 
that  was  in  Christ,  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Father ;  if  no  thought, 
no  vibration,  no  spiritual  communication,  or  miraculous  display, 
existed  in,  or  proceeded  from  Christ,  not  immediately  and  consub- 
stantially  identified  with  Jehovah,  the  Great  First  Cause ;  if  all 
these  operating  principles  were  thus  derived,  in  consistency  alone 
with  the  conjoint  divine  attributes ;  if  this  Spirit  of  the  Father 
ruled  and  reigned  in  Christ  as  his  own  manifestation,  then  in  the 
strictest  sense,  Christ  exhibited  'the  Godhead  bodily,' and  was 
1  -leniably  '  one  with  the  Father ;'  confirmatory  of  the  Saviour's 
words :  '  Of  myself  (my  body)  I  can  do  nothing,  the  Father  that 
dwelleth  in  me,  he  doeth  the  works.' 

But  though  I  speak  of  the  body  as  inert  in  itself,  and  necessa- 
rily allied  to  matter,  yet  this  declaration  must  not  be  understood 
as  militating  against  the  christian  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  of 
the  body.     In  its  grosser  form,  the  thought  is  not  to  be  admitted 


210  REMIXISCEXCES  OF 


for  •'  llesli  and  blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God,'  but  that 
the  body,  without  losing  its  consciousness  and  individuality,  may 
be  subjected  by  the  illimitable  power  of  Omnipotence,  to  a  subli- 
mating process,  so  as  to  be  rendered  compatible  with  spiritual  as- 
sociation, is  not  opposed  to  reason,  in  its  severe  abstract  exercises, 
while  in  attestation  of  this  exhilarating  hdicf,  there  are  many  re- 
mote analogies  in  nature  exemplifying  the  same  truth,  wrhile  it  is 
in  the  strictest  accordance  with  that  final  dispensation,  which  must, 
as  christians,  regulate  all  our  speculations.  I  proceed  now  to  say, 
that — 

If  the  postulate  be  thus  admitted,  that  one  mind  influencing  two 
Jbodies,  vrould  only  involve  a  divei'sity  of  operations,  but  in  reality 
be  one  in  essence ;  or  otherwise  as  an  hypothetical  argument,  il- 
lustrative of  truth,  if  one  pre-eminent  mind,  or  spiritual  subsistence, 
unconnected  v/ith  matter,  possessed  an  undivided  and  sovereign 
dominion  over  two  or  more  disembodied  minds,  so  as  to  become 
the  exclusive  source  of  all  their  subtlest  volitions  and  exercises, 
the  unity,  however  complex  tlie  modus  of  its  manifestation,  would 
be  fully  established  ;  and  this  principle  extends  to  Deity  itself,  and 
shows  the  true  sense,  as  I  conceive,  in  which  Christ  and  the  Father 
are  one. 

In  continuation  of  this  reasoning,  if  God,  w^ho  is  light,  the  Sun 
of  the  moral  world,  should  in  his  union  of  infinite  wisdom,  power, 
and  goodness,  and  from  all  eternity,  have  ordained  that  an  emana- 
tion from  himself, — for  aught  we  know,  an  essential  emanation,  as 
light  is  inseparable  fiom  the  luminary  of  day, — should  not  only 
hare  existed  in  his  Son,  in  the  fulness  of  time  to  be  united  to  a 
mortal  body,  but  that  a  like  emanation  from  himself,  also  perhaps 
essential,  should  have  constituted  the  Holy  Spirit,  who,  without 
losing  his  ubiquity,  was  more  especially  sent  to  this  lower  earth, 
hy  the  Son,  at  the  impulse  of  the  Father,  then  in  the  most  com- 
prehensive sense,  God,  and  his  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost,  are  one.  '  Three  persons  in  one  God,'  and  thus  form  the 
true  Trinity  in  Unity. 

To  suppose  that  more  than  one  independent  power,  or  govern- 
ing mind,  exists  in  the  whole  universe,  is  absolute  Polytheism, 
against  which  the  denunciations  of  all  the  Jewish  and  Christian 
canonical  books  w^ere  directed.     And  if  there  be  but  one  direct- 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  241 


ing  MIND,  that  mind  is  God  !  operating  hovrevej-,  in  three  persons, 
according  to  the  direct  and  uniform  declarations  of  that  inspiration 
which  'brought  life  and  immortahty  to  light.'  Yet  this  divine 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity  is  to  be  received,  not  because  it  is  or  can 
be  clear  to  finite  apprehension,  but,  in  reiteration  of  the  argument, 
because  the  Scriptures,  in  their  unsophisticated  interpretation, 
expressly  state  it.  The  Trinity,  therefore,  from  its  important  as- 
pects, and  biblical  prominence,  is  the  grand  article  of  faith,  and 
the  foundation  of  the  whole  Christian  system. 

Who  can  say,  as  Christ  and  the  Holy  Ghost  proceeded  from, 
and  are  still  one  with  the  Father,  and,  as  all  the  disciples  of  Christ 
derive  their  fulness  from  him,  and,  in  spirit,  are  inviolately  united 
to  him  as  a  branch  is  to  the  vine,  who  can  say,  but  that  in  one 
view,  what  was  once  mysteriously  separated,  may  as  mysteriously 
be  re-combined,  and,  without  interferino-  with  the  everlastinp'  Trin- 
ity,  and  the  individuality  of  the  spiritual  and  seraphic  orders,  the 
Son,  at  the  consummation  of  all  things,  deliver  up  his  mediatorial 
kingdom  to  the  Father,  and  God,  in  some  peculiar  and  infinitely 
subHme  sense,  become  all  in  all !     God  love  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge."^' 

In  a  former  page,  Mr.  Coleridge  has  been  represented  as  en- 
tertaining sentiments  in  early  life,  approaching  to,  though  not 
identified  with,  those  of  Unitarians ;  on  his  return  to  Bristol,  in 
the  year  1807,  a  complete  reverse  had  taken  place  in  his  theolog- 
ical tenets.  Reflection  and  reading,  particularly  the  Bible,  had 
taught  him,  as  he  said,  the  unstable  foundation  on  which  Unita- 
rians grounded  their  faith  ;  and  in  proportion  as  orthodox  senti- 
ments acquired  an  ascendency  in  his  mind,  a  love  of  truth  com- 
pelled him  to  oppose  his  former  errors,  and  stimidated  him,  by  an 
explicit  declaration  of  his  religious  view^s,  to  counteract  those  for- 
Qier  impressions,  which  his  cruder  opinions  had  led  him  once  so 
strenuously  to  enforce  on  all  around. 

The  editor  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  ^'  Table  Talk,"  has  conferred  an 
mportant  benefit  on  the  public,  by  preserving  so  many  of  his  fa- 
niliar  conversations,  particularly  those  on  the  important  subject 

*  It  was  a  favorite  citation  with  Mr.  Coleridge,  "  I  in  them,  and  thou  in 
ae,  that  they  all  may  be  one  in  us." 


24-2  REMINISCENCES  OF 


of  Unitiirianism.  Few  men  ever  poured  forth  torrents  of  mor< 
happily-expressed  language,  the  result  of  more  matured  reflection 
in  his  social  intercourse,  than  Mr.  Coleridge  ;  and  at  this  time,  th< 
recollection  is  accompanied  with  serious  regret,  that  I  allowed  to 
pass  unnoticed  so  many  of  his  splendid  colloquies,  which,  could 
they  be  recalled,  would  exhibit  his  talents  in  a  light  equally  fa /or 
able  with  his  most  deliberately-written  productions. 

I  did  indeed  take  notes  of  one  of  his  conversations,  on  his  de- 
parture from  a  supper  party,  and  Avhich  I  shall  subjoin,  because 
the  confirmed  general  views,  and  individual  opinions  of  so  enlarged 
a  mmd  must  command  attention ;  especially  when  exercised  on 
subjects  intrinsically  important.  I  however  observe,  that  my 
sketch  of  the  conversation  must  be  understood  as  being  exceed- 
ingly far  from  domg  justice  to  the  original. 

At  this  time  I  was  invited  to  meet  Mr.  Colerido-e  with  a  zealoii- 

o 

Unitarian  minister.  It  was  natural  to  conclude,  that  such  uncon- 
genial, and,  at  the  same  time,  such  inflammable  materials  would 
soon  ignite.  The  subject  of  Unitarianism  having  been  introduced 
soon  after  dinner,  the  minister  avowed  his  sentiments,  in  language 
that  was  construed  into  a  challenge,  when  Mr.  Coleridge  advanced 
at  once  to  the  charge,  by  saying,  "  Sir,  you  give  up  so  much,  thii 
the  little  you  retain  of  Christianity  is  not  worth  keeping."  W^ 
looked  in  vain  for  a  reply.  After  a  manifest  internal  conflict,  th( 
Unitarian  minister  very  prudently  allowed  the  gauntlet  to  remain 
undisturbed.     Wine  he  thought  more  pleasant  than  controversy. 

Shortly  after  this  occurrence,  Mr.  Coleridge  supped  with  th- 
writer,  when  his  well-known  conversational  talents  were  eminently 
displayed  ;  so  that  what  Pope  affirmed  of  Bolingbroke,  that  "  hi^ 
usual  conversation,  taken  down  verbatim,  from  its  coherence  and 
accuracy,  would  have  borne  printing,  without  correction,"  was 
fully,  and  perhaps  more  justly  applicable  to  Mr.  C. 

Some  of  his  theological  observations  are  here  detailed. 

He  said  he  had  recently  had  a  long  conversation  with  an  Unitarian 
minister,  who  declared  that  he  could  discover  nothing  in  the  Ne^v 
Testament  which  in  the  least  favored  the  divinity  of  Christ,  to 
which  Mr.  C.  replied  that  it  appeared  to  him  impossible  for  any 
man  to  read  the  New  Testament,  with  the  common  exercise  of  an 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  243 

unbiased  understanding,  without  being  convinced  of  the  divinity 
of  Christ,  from  the  testimony  almost  of  every  page. 

He  said  it  was  evident  that  different  persons  might  look  at 
the  same  object  with  very  opposite  feelings.  For  instance,  if  Sir 
Isaac  Xewton  looked  at  the  planet  Jupiter,  he  would  view  him 
with  his  revolving  moons,  and  would  be  led  to  the  contemplation 
of  his  bemg  inhabited,  which  thought  would  open  a  boundless 
field  to  his  imagination  :  whilst  another  person,  standing  perhaps 
at  the  side  of  the  great  philosopher,  would  look  at  Jupiter  with 
the  same  set  of  feelings  that  he  would  at  a  silver  sixpence.  So 
some  persons  were  wilfully  bhnd,  and  did  not  seek  for  that  change, 
that  preparation  of  the  heart  and  understanding,  which  would 
enable  them  to  see  clearly  the  gospel  truth. 

He  said  that  Socinians  believed  no  more  than  St.  Paul  did 
before  his  conversion  :  for  the  Pharisees  believed  in  a  Supreme 
Being,  and  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments.  St.  Paul 
thought  he  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the  name  of 
Jesus  of  iSTazareth.  The  saints  he  shut  up  in  prison,  having  re- 
ceived authority  from  the  High  Priest,  and  when  they  were  put  to 
death,  he  gave  his  voice  against  them.  But  after  his  conversion, 
writing  to  the  Romans,  he  says,  '  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  gospel 
of  Christ,  for  it  is  the  power  of  God  to  salvation  unto  every  man 
that  believeth  :  to  the  Jew  first,  and  also  to  the  Gentiles.' 

He  then  referred  to  the  dreadful  state  of  the  literati  in  London, 
as  it  respects  religion,  and  of  their  having  laughed  at  him,  and 
believed  him  to  be  in  jest,  when  he  professed  his  belief  in  the 
Bible. 

Having  introduced  Mr.  Davy  to  Mr.  C.  some  years  before,  I 
inquired  for  him  with  some  anxiety,  and  expressed  a  hope  that  he 
was  not  tinctured  with  the  prevailing  scepticism  since  his  removal 
from  Bristol  to  London.  Mr.  C.  assured  me  that  he  was  not: 
that  his  heart  and  understanding  were  not  the  soil  for  infidelity.* 

♦  In  corroboration  of  this  remark,  an  occurrence  might  be  cited,  from  the 
Life  of  Sir  Humphry,  by  his  brother,  Dr.  Davy. — Sir  Humphry,  in  his  ex- 
cursion to  Ireland,  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Richardson,  met  a  large  party  at  din- 
ner, amongst  whom  were  the  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  and  another  Clergyman. 
A  gentleman,  one  of  the  company,  in  his  zeal  for  InfideUty,  began  an  attack 
on  Christianity,  (no  very  gentlemanly  conduct,)  not  doubting  but  that  Sir  H, 


244  REMINISCENCES   OF 

I  then  remarked,  "  During  your  stay  in  London,  you  doubtless 
saw  a  great  many  of  what  are  called  '  the  cleverest  men ;'  how  do 
you  estimate  Davy  in  comparison  with  these  ?"  Mr.  Coleridge's 
reply  was  strong,  but  expressive.  "  Why,  Davy  could  eat  them 
all !  There  is  an  energy,  an  elasticity,  in  his  mind,  which  enables 
him  to  seize  on,  and  analyze,  all  questions,  pushing  them  to  their 
legitimate  consequences.  Every  subject  in  Davy's  mind  has  the 
principle  of  vitality.  Living  thoughts  spring  up  like  the  turf 
under  his  feet."  With  equal  justice,  Mr.  Davy  entertained  the 
same  exalted  opinion  of  Mr.  Coleridge. 

Mr.  C.  now  changed  the  subject,  and  spoke  of  Holcroft ;  who 
he  said  was  a  man  of  but  small  powers,  with  superficial,  rather 
than  solid  talents,  and  possessing  principles  of  the  most  horrible 
description  ;  a  man  who  at  the  very  moment  he  denied  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Deity,  in  his  heart  believed  and  trembled.  He  said  that 
Holcroft,  and  other  atheists,  reasoned  with  so  much  fierceness 
and  vehemence  against  a  God,  that  it  plainly  showed  they  were 
inwardly  conscious  there  ivas  a  God  to  reason  against ;  for,  a  non- 
entity would  never  excite  passion. 

He  said  that  in  one  of  his  visits  to  London,  he  accidentally  met 
Holcroft  in  a  public  office  without  knowing  his  name,  when  he 
began,  stranger  as  he  was,  the  enforcement  of  some  of  his  dia- 
bolical sentiments  !  which,  it  appears,  h^  was  in  the  habit  of  doing 
at  all  seasons,  and  in  all  companies  ;  by  which  he  often  corrupted 
the  principles  of  those  simple  persons  who  listened  to  his  shallow 
and  worn-out  impieties.  Mr.  C.  declared  himself  to  have  felt  in- 
dignant at   conduct  so  infamous,   and  at  once  closed  with  the 

Davy,  as  a  Philosopher,  participated  in  his  principles,  and  he  probably  antici- 
pated, with  so  powerful  an  auxiliary,  an  easy  triumph  over  the  cloth.  With 
great  confidence  he  began  his  flippant  sarcasms  at  religion,  and  was  heard 
out  by  his  audience,  and  by  none  with  more  attention  than  by  Sir  Humphry. 
At  the  conclusion  of  his  harangue,  Sir  H.  Davy,  instead  of  lending  his  aidy 
entered  on  a  comprehensive  defence  of  Christianity,  '  in  so  fine  a  tone  of  elo- 
quence' that  the  Bishop  stood  up  from  an  impulse  similar  to  that  which  some- 
times forced  a  whole  congregation  to  rise  at  one  of  the  impassioned  bursts  of 
Massillon. 

The  Infidel  was  struck  dumb  with  mortification  and  astonishment,  and 
fiiough  a  guest  for  the  night,  at  the  assembling  of  the  company  the  next 
morning  at  breakfast,  it  was  found  that  he  had  taken  French  leave,  and  a4 
the  earliest  dawn  had  set  off  for  his  own  home. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  245 


*' prating  atheist,"  when  they  had  a  sharp  encounter.  Holcroft 
then  abruptly  addressed  him  :  "  I  perceive  you  have  mind,  and 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  It  will  be  worth  while  to 
make  a  convert  of  yoic.  I  am  engaged  at  present,  but  if  you  will 
call  on  me  to-morrow  morning,"  giving  him  his  card,  "  I  will  engage, 
in  half  an  hour,  to  convince  you  there  is  no  God !" 

Mr.  Coleridge  called  on  him  the  next  morning,  when  the  dis- 
cussion was  renewed,  but  none  being  present  except  the  disputants, 
no  account  is  preserved  of  this  important  conversation  ;  but  Mr.  C. 
affirmed  that  he  beat  ail  his  arguments  to  atoms  ;  a  result  that 
none  who  knew  him  could  doubt.  He  also  stated  that  instead  of 
his  being  converted  to  atheism,  the  atheist  himself,  after  his  man- 
ner, was  converted ;  for  the  same  day  he  sent  Mr.  C.  a  letter,  say- 
ing his  reasoning  was  so  clear  and  satisfactory,  that  he  had  changed 
his  vievfs  and  was  now  ''  a  theist.''^  The  next  sun  probably 
beheld  him  an  atheist  again ;  but  whether  he  called  himself  this 
or  that,  his  character  was  the  same. 

Soon  after  the  foregoing  incident,  Mr.  Coleridge  said,  he  found 
himself  in  a  large  party,  at  the  house  of  a  man  of  letters,  amongst 
whom,  to  his  sui-prise,  he  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Holcroft,  when,  to 
incite  to  a  renewal  of  their  late  dispute,  and  before  witnesses, 
(in  the  full  consciousness  of  strength,)  Mr.  C.  enforced  the  pro- 
priety of  teaching  children,  as  soon  as  they  could  articulate,  to 
lisp  the  praises  of  their  Maker  ;  "  for,"  said  he,  ''  though  they 
can  form  no  correct  idea  of  God,  yet  they  entertain  a  high  opin- 
ion of  their  father,  and  it  is  an  easy  introduction  to  the  truth, 
to  tell  them  that  their  Heavenly  Father  is  stronger,  and  wiser, 
and  better,  than  their  earthly  father." 

The  whole  company  looked  at  Mr.  Holcroft,  implying  that  noiu 
was  the  time  for  him  to  meet  a  competent  opponent,  and  justify 
sentiments  which  he  had  so  often  triumphantly  advanced.  They 
looked  in  vain.  He  maintained,  to  their  surprise,  a  total  silence, 
well  rememberinor  the  severe  castio-ation  he  had  so  recently  re- 
ceived.  But  a  very  different  effect  was  produced  on  Mrs.  Hol- 
croft. She  indignantly  heard,  and  giving  vent  to  her  passion 
and  her  tears,  said,  she  was  quite  surprised  at  Mr.  Coleridge  talk- 
ing in  that  way  before  her,  when  he  knew  that  both  herself  and 
Mr.  Holcroft  were  atheists  ! 


246  REMINISCENCES   OF 


Mr.  C.  spoke  of  the  unutterable  horror  he  felt,  when  Holcroft^ 
son,  a  boy  eight  years  of  age,  came  up  to  him  and  said,  "  1 
is  no  God  !"     So  that  these  wretched  parents,  alike  father  and 
mother,  were  as  earnest  in  inculcating  atheism  on  their  children, 
as  christian  pai*ents  are  in  inspiring  their  offspring  with  respect 
for  religious  truth. 

Actions  are  often  the  best  illustration  of  principles.  Mi\  Cole- 
ridge also  stated  the  following  circumstance,  notorious  at  the 
time,  as  an  evidence  of  the  disastrous  effects  of  atheism.  Hol- 
croft's  tyrannical  conduct  towards  his  children  was  proverbial. 
An  elder  son,  with  a  mind  embued  with  his  father's  senti- 
ments, from  extreme  severity  of  treatment,  had  run  away  from 
his  paternal  roof,  and  entered  on  board  a  ship.  Hoi  croft  pursued 
his  son,  and  when  the  fugitive  youth  saw  his  father  in  a  boat, 
rowing  toward  the  vessel,  rather  than  endure  his  frown  and  his 
chastisement,  he  seized  a  pistol,  and  blew  his  brains  out !  ^ 

An  easy  transition  having  been  made  to  the  Bible,  Mr.  C.  spoke 
of  our  Saviour  Avith  an  utterance  so  sublime  and  reverential,  that 
none  could  have  heard  him  without  experiencing  an  accession 
of  love,  gratitude,  and  adorations  to  the  Great  Author  of  our 
salvation.  He  referred  to  the  DiA^inity  of  Christ,  as  a  truth,  in- 
contestible  to  all  who  admitted  the  inspiration,  and  consequent  , 
authority  of  Scripture.  He  particularly  alluded  to  the  6th  of  | 
John,  V.  15.  ''  When  Jesus  perceived  that  they  would  come  and  ' 
take  him  by  force  to  make  him  a  king,  he  departed  again  into 
a  mountain  '  alone'  "  He  said  it  characterized  the  low  views,  and 
worldly-mindedness  of  the  Jews,  that,  after  they  had  seen  the 
miracles  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  heard  his  heavenly  doctrine,  and  had 
been  told  that  his  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world,  they  should 
think  of  conferring  additional  honor  on  him  by  making  him  their 
King  !  He  departed  from  these  little  views  and  scenes,  by  nighty 
to  a  neighboring  mountain,  and  there,  in  the  spirit  of  prescience, 
meditated  on  his  approaching  crucifixion  ;  on  that  attendant  guilt, 
which  would  bring  on  the  Jews,  wrath  to  the  uttermost,  and  ter- 

*  The  father's  remark  on  tlie  occasion  was,  "  There's  an  end  of  him  !    A 
fine  high-spirited  fellow !" 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  247 

miiiate  their  impieties,   by  one  million  of  their  race  being  s\Yept 
from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Mr.  C.  noticed  Doddridge's  works  with  great  respect,  particu- 
larly his  "Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion."*     He  thought  favora- 

*  Perhaps,  the  most  valuable  production  of  Mr.  Foster,  as  to  style  and  ten- 
dency, is  the  Essay  which  he  prefixed  to  the  Glasgow  edition  of  Doddridge's 
"  Rise  and  Progress  of  Religion."  Mr.  F.  having  sent  me  a  letter  relating  to 
the  above  Essay,  just  as  it  was  completed,  it  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  the 
reader;  where  he  will  behold  a  fresh  instance  of  the  complex  motives,  in 
which  the  best  of  human  productions  often  originate. 

"  Sept.  10,  1825. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  am  truly  sorry  not  to  have  seen  you,  excepting  on  one  short  evening,  for 
so  long  a  time,  and  as  I  expect  to  go  on  Monday  next  to  Lyme,  I  cannot  be 
content  without  leaving  for  you  a  line  or  two,  as  a  little  link  of  continuity,  if 
I  may  so  express  it,  in  our  friendly  communications.  The  preventive  cause 
of  my  not  seeing  you,  has  been  the  absolute  necessity  of  keeping  myself  un- 
interruptedly employed  to  finish  a  literary  task  which  had  long  hung  as  a 
dead  weight  on  my  hands. 

Dr.  Chalmers  some  three  years  since  started  a  plan  of  reprinting  in  a  neat 
form  a  number  of  respectable  religious  works,  of  the  older  date,  with  a  pre- 
liminary'^ Essay  to  each,  relating  to  the  book,  or  to  any  analogous  topic,  at  the 
writer's  discretion.  The  Glasgow  booksellers,  Chalmers  and  Collins,  the  c;i3 
the  Doctor's  brother,  and  the  other  his  most  confidential  friend,  have  acccr.I- 
ingly  reprinted  a  series  of  perhaps  now  a  dozen  works,  with  essays,  several 
by  Dr.  C. ;  several  by  Irving;  one  by  Wilberforce ;  one  by  Daniel  Wilson, 
&c.  &c,  I  believe  Hall,  and  Cunningham  promised  their  contributions.  I 
was  inveigled  into  a  similar  promise,  more  than  two  years  since.  The  work 
strongly  urged  on  me  for  this  service,  in  the  first  instance,  was  '  Doddridge's 
Rise  and  Progress,'  and  the  contribution  was  actually  promised  to  be  fur- 
nished with  the  least  possible  delay,  on  the  strength  of  which  the  book  was 
immediately  printed  off —  and  has  actually  been  lying  in  their  warehouse  as 
dead  stock  these  two  years.  I  was  admonished  and  urged  again  and  again, 
but  in  spite  of  the  mortification,  and  shame,  which  I  could  not  but  feel,  at  thus 
occasioning  the  publisher  a  positive  loss,  my  horror  of  writing,  combined  with 
ill  health,  invincibly  prevailed,  and  not  a  paragraph  was  written  till  toward 
the  end  of  last  year,  when  I  did  summon  resolution  for  the  attempt.  When  I 
had  written  but  a  very  few  pages,  the  reluctant  labor  was  interrupted,  and 
suspended,  by  the  more  interesting  one  of  writing  those  letters  to  our  dear 
young  friend,  your  niece.  (Miss  Saunders.)  Not  of  course  that  this  latter 
employment  did  not  allow  me  time  enough  for  the  other,  but  by  its  more  lively 
interest,  it  had  the  effect  of  augmenting  my  disinclination  to  the  other.  Soon 
after  her  removal,  I  resumed  the  task,  and  am  ashamed  to  acknowledge  such 
a  miserable  and  matchless  slowness  of  mental  operation,  that  the  task  has 


•J48  REMINISCENCES   OF 


bly  of  Lord  Rochester's  conversion  as  narrated  bj  Burnet ;  spoke 
of  Jeremy  Taylor  in  exalted  tenns,  and  thought  the  compass  of 
his  mind  discovered  itself  in  none  of  his  works  more  than  in  his 
"  Life  of  Chnst,"  extremely  miscellaneous  as  it  was.  He  also  ex- 
pressed the  strongest  commendation*  of  Archbishop  Leighton, 
whose  talents  were  of  the  loftiest  description,  and  which  were,  at 
the  same  time,  eminently  combined  with  humihty.  He  thought 
Bishop  Burnet's  high  character  of  Leighton  justly  deserved,  and 
that  his  whole  conduct  and  spirit  were  more  conformed  to  his 
Divine  Master,  than  almost  any  man  on  record. 

I  now  proceed  to  say,  it  was  with  extreme  reluctance  that  the 
Unitarians  in  Bristol  resigned  their  champion,  especially  as  other 
defections  had  recently  occurred  in  their  commuiiity,  and  that 
among  the  more  intellectual  portion  of  their  friends.  Although 
the  expectation  might  be  extravagant,  they  still  cherished  the  hope, 
however  languid,  that  Mr.  '  --me  oscillations,  would  once 

held  me  confined  ever  si:  these  few  days.     I  heheve 

that  nothing  but  a  strong  ^  :llin^  my  engagement,  and 

of  not  continuing  to  do  a  r  ould  have  constrained 

me  to  so  long  a  labor.     It  :  ?o  slender  a  result  of 

so  much  time  and  toiL     Th  _  ri    rneariy  one  half 

of  Doddridge^s  book,  but    :  :  rs  of  sentences, 

would  have  produced  as  n:  :    .  i  labor.    I 

have  aimed  at  great  correct     —  1  the  labor 

of  revisal  and  transcription  '       litial 

composition.     The  thing  L  _        I  iree 

times  the  length  which  w  eiy 

little  reference  to  tfie  book  v  i  is 

merely  a  serious  inculcati  r 
and  men  of  the  world.     Ii- 
matters,)  I  rate  it  very  mo  : 
ness  of  expresaon.     If  it  ; 
labor  has  been  sadly  thro 
making  up  to  be  sent  from 

parcel  of  copies,  and  shall  ^  :^_.  :  :.:..  .  .: 

ton  Street. 

My  dear  sir.  I  am  absolutely  ashamed  to  have  bten  1  of 

what  is  no  better  than  egotism,  when  I  was  mean 
what  has  detained  me  fix>m  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
My  dear  sir. 

Yours  :iiu-t  tnilv. 

John  Foster." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  249 

more  bestow  on  them  his  suffrage  ;  but  an  occurrence  took  place, 
which  dissipated  the  last  vestige  of  this  hope,  and  formed  between 
them  a  permanent  wall  of  separation. 

Mr.  Coleridge  was  lecturing  in  Bristol,  surrounded  by  a  numer- 
ous audience,  Avhen,  in  referring  to  the  *' Paradise  Regained,"  he 
said,  that  Milton  had  clearly  represented  Satan,  as  a  ''sceptical 
Socinian."  This  was  regarded  as  a  direct  and  undisguised  de- 
claration of  war.  It  so  happened  that  indisposition  prevented 
me  from  attending  that  lecture,  but  I  received  from  Mr.  C.  di- 
rectly after,  a  letter,  in  which  he  thus  writes : 

*  ^         ^         '^         "  Mr. ,  I  find,  is  raising  the  city 

against  me,  as  far  as  he  and  his  friends  can,  for  having  stated  a 
mere  matter  of  fact ;  viz.  that  Milton  had  represented  Satan  as  a 
sceptical  Socinian ;  which  is  the  case ;  and  I  could  not  have  ex- 
plained the  excellence  of  the  subliraest  single  passage  in  all  his 
writings,  liad  I  not  previously  informed  the  audience,  that  Milton 
had  represented  Satan,  as  knowing  the  prophetic  and  Messianic 
character  of  Christ,  but  was  sceptical  as- to  any  higher  claims. 

And  what  other  definition   could  Mr. himself  give   of  a 

sceptical  Socinian  ?  (with  this  diflerence  indeed,  that  Satan's  faith 
somewhat  exceeded  that  of  Socinians.)  ISTow  that  Satan  has  done 
so,  will  you  consult  '  Paradise  Regained,'  Book  IV.  from  line  196, 
and  the  same  Book,  from  Hne  500." 

It  is  of  consequence  that  Mr.  Coleridge's  late?'  sentiments  on 
the  subject  of  Socinianism  should  be  given  ;  but  as  I  had  no  op- 
portunity of  ascertaining  what  those  sentiments  were,  it  was  satis- 
factory to  learn  from  the  testimony  of  Mr.   C.'s   "Table  Talk,"^ 

*  "  I  think  Priestly  must  be  considered  the  author  of  modern  Unitarianism. 
I  owe,  under  God,  my  return  to  the  faith,  to  my  having  gone  much  farther 
than  the  Unitarians,  and  so  having  come  round  to  the  other  side.  I  can  truly 
say,  I  never  falsified  the  Scriptures.  I  always  told  them  thai  their  interpreta- 
tions of  Scripture  were  intolerable,  on  any  principles  of  sound  criticism;  and 
that,  if  they  were  to  offer  to  construe  the  will  of  their  neighbor,  as  they  did 
that  of  their  Maker,  they  would  be  scouted  out  of  society.  I  said,  plainly 
and  openly,  that  it  was  clear  enough,  John  and  Paul  were  not  Unitarians. 

I  make  the  greatest  difference  between  '  ans  '  and  '  isms. '  I  should  deal 
insincerely,  if  I  said  that  I  thought  Unitarianism  was  Christianity.  No,  as  I 
believe,  and  have  faith  in  the  doctrine,  it  is  not  the  truth  in  Jesus  Christ.  By- 
the-by,  what  do  you  (Unitarians)  mean,  by  exclusively  assuming  the  title  of 

11^^ 


250  REMINISCENCES   OF 


that  his  last  and  maturest  opinions  were,  to  the  fullest,  confirma- 
tory of  those  expressed  by  him  in  these  pages. 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  to  Mr. 
George  Fricker,  his  brother-in-law;  it  is  believed  in  1807.  Mr. 
F.  died  1828  ;  pious  and  respected. 

*'  Saturday  afternoon. 
My  dear  young  Friend, 

I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  felt  any  delicacy  in  disclosing 
to  me  your  religious  feelings,  as  rendering  it  inconsistent  with 

Unitarians  7  As  if  Trio-Unitarians  were  not  necessarily  Unitarians,  as  much 
(pardon  the  illustration)  as  an  apple-pie,  must  of  course  be  a  pie !  The 
schoolmen  would  perhaps  have  called  you  Unidsls,  but  your  proper  name  is 
PsilaiUhropists,  believers  in  the  mere  human  nature  of  Christ.  *  *  * 
Unitarianism  is,  in  effect,  the  worst  of  one  kind  of  Atheism,  joined  to  one  of 
the  worst  kinds  of  Calvinism.  It  has  no  covenant  with  God,  and  it  looks 
upon  prayer  as  a  sort  of  self-magnetizing ;  a  getting  of  the  body  and  temper 
into  a  certain  status,  desirable,  ^;cr  se,  but  having  no  covenanted  reference  to 
the  Being  to  whom  the  prayer  is  addressed. 

The  pet  texts  of  Socinians  are  quite  enough  for  their  confutation  with  acute 
thinkers.  If  Christ  had  been  a  mere  man,  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  in 
him  to  call  himself  the  '  Son  of  Man ;  '  but  being  God  and  man,  it  then  became, 
in  his  own  assumption,  a  peculiar  and  mysterious  title.  So,  if  Christ  had 
been  a  mere  man,  his  saying  '  my  Father  is  greater  than  I,'  (John  xv.  28,) 
would  have  been  as  unmeaning.  It  would  be  laughable,  for  example,  to  hear 
me  say,  '  my  '  Remorse  '  succeeded  indeed,  but  Shakspeare  is  a  greater  drama- 
tist than  I.'  But  how  immeasurably  more  foolish,  more  monstrous,  would  it  be 
for  a  man,  however  honest,  good,  or  wise,  to  say,  '  But  Jehovah  is  greater 
than  I.' 

Either  we  have  an  immortal  soul,  or  we  have  not.  If  we  have  not,  we  are 
beasts;  the  first  and  wisest  of  beasts  it  may  be,  but  still  true  beasts.  We 
shall  only  difler  in  degree,  and  not  in  kind  ;  just  as  the  elephant  differs  from 
the  slug.  But  by  the  concession  of  all  the  materialists,  of  all  the  schooli=i.  or 
almost  all,  we  are  not  of  the  same  kind  as  beasts  ;  and  this  also  we  say,  from 
our  own  consciousness.  Therefore,  methinks  it  must  be  the  possession  of  a 
soul  within  us,  that  makes  the  difference. 

"  Read  the  first  chapter  of  the  book  of  Genesis  without  prejudice,  and  you 
will  be  convinced  at  once.  After  the  narrative  of  the  creation  of  the  earth 
and  brute  animals,  Moses  seems  to  pause,  and  says,  '  And  God  said.  Let  us 
make  man  in  our  image,  after  our  likeness.'  And  in  the  next  chapter,  he 
repeats  the  narrative. — '  And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the 
ground,  and  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life;'  and  then  he  adds 
these  words,  '  and  man  became  a  living  soul.'  Materialism  will  never  ei- 
plain  these  last  words. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  251 

your  tranquillity  of  mind  to  spend  the  Sunday  evening  with  me. 
Though  I  do  not  find  in  that  book,  which  we  both  equally  revere, 
any  command,  either  express,  or  which  I  can  infer,  which  leads 
me  to  attach  any  criminality  to  cheerful  and  innocent  social  inter- 
course on  the  Lord's  day  ;  though  I  do  not  find  that  it  was  in  the 
least  degree  forbidden  to  the  Jews  on  their  Sabbath ;  and  though 
I  have  been  taught  by  Luther  and  the  great  founders  of  the 
Church  of  England,  that  the  Sabbath  was  a  part  of  the  ceremo- 
nial and  transitory  parts  of  the  law  given  by  Heaven  to  Moses ; 
and  that  our  Sunday  is  binding  on  our  consciences,  chiefly  from 
its  manifest  and  most  awful  usefulness,  and  indeed  moral  ne- 
cessity^ yet  I  highly  commend  your  firmness  in  what  you  think 
right,  and  assure  you  solemnly,  that  I  esteem  you  greatly  for  it. 
I  would  much  rather  that  you  should  have  too  much,  than  an 
atom  too  little.  I  am  far  from  surprised,  that  having  seen  what 
you  have  seen,  and  suffered  what  you  have  suffered,  you  should 
have  opened  your  soul  to  a  sense  of  our  fallen  nature,  and  the 
incapability  of  man  to  heal  himself.  My  opinions  may  not  be  in 
all  points  the  same  as  yours,  but  I  have  experienced  a  similar 
alteration.  I  was  for  many  years  a  Socinian ;  and  at  times  al- 
most a  Naturalist ;  but  sorrow,  and  ill-health,  and  disappointment 
in  the  only  deep  wish  I  had  ever  cherished,  forced  me  to  look 
into  myself ;  I  read  the  New  Testament  again,  and  I  became  fully 
convinced,  that  Socinianism  was  not  only  not  the  doctrine  of  the 
New  Testament,  but  that  it  scarcely  deserved  the  name  of  a 
religion  in  any  sense.  An  extract  from  a  letter  which  I  wrote  a 
few  months  ago  to  a  sceptical  friend,  who  had  been  a  Socinian, 
and  of  course  rested  all  the  evidences  of  Christianity  on  miracles, 
to  the  exclusion  of  grace  and  inward  faith,  will  perhaps  surprise 
you,  as  showing  you  how  much  nearer  our  opinions  are  than 
what  you  must  have  supposed.  *  I  fear  that  the  mode  of  defend- 
ing Christianity,  adopted  by  Grotius  first ;  and  latterly,  among 
many  others,  by  Dr.  Paley,  has  increased  the  number  of  infidels  ; — 
never  could  it  have  been  so  great,  if  thinking  men  had  been  habit- 
ually led  to  look  into  their  own  souls,  instead  of  always  looking  out, 
both  of  themselves  and  of  their  nature.  If  to  curb  attack,  such 
as  yours  on  miracles,  it  had  been  answered  : — *  Well,  brother  ! 
but  granting  these   miracles   to  have  been  in  part  the  growth 


252  REMINISCENCES   OF 

of  delusion  at  the  time,  and  of  exaggeration  afterward,  yet  still 
all  the  doctrines  will  remain  untouched  by  this  circumstance,  and 
binding  on  thee.  Still  must  thou  repent  and  be  regenerated,  and 
be  crucified  to  the  flesh  ;  and  this  not  by  thy  own  mere  power ; 
but  by  a  mysterious  action  of  the  moral  Governor  on  thee ;  of  the 
Ordo-ordinians,  the  Logos,  or  Word.  Still  will  the  eternal  filia- 
tion, or  Sonship  of  the  Word  from  the  Father ;  still  will  the  Trin- 
ity of  the  Deity,  the  redemption,  and  the  thereto  necessary  as- 
sumption of  humanity  by  the  Word,  *  who  is  with  God,  and  is 
God,'  remain  truths  :  and  still  will  the  vital  head-and-heart  faith 
in  these  truths,  be  the  living  and  only  fountain  of  all  true  virtue. 
Believe  all  these,  and  with  the  grace  of  the  spirit  con^lt  your 
own  heart,  in  quietness  and  humility,  they  will  furnish  you  with 
proofs,  that  surpass  all  understanding,  because  they  are  felt  and 
known ;  believe  all  these  I  say,  so  as  that  thy  faith  shall  be  not 
merely  real  in  the  acquiescence  of  the  intellect ;  but  actual,  in 
the  thereto  assimilated  affections  ;  then  shalt  thou  know  from 
God,  whether  or  not  Christ  be  of  God.  But  take  notice,  I  only 
say  the  miracles  are  extra  essential ;  I  by  no  means  deny  their 
importance,  much  less  hold  them  useless,  or  superfluous.  Even 
as  Christ  did,  so  would  I  teach  ;  that  is,  build  the  miracle  on  the 
faith,  not  the  faith  on  the  miracle.' 

May  heaven  bless  you,  my  dear  George,  and 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  C." 

In  the  intervening  time,  between  the  receipt  of  Mr.  C.'s  last 
letter,  and  his  calling  on  me,  I  received  a  note  from  a  lady,  an 
old  friend,  begging  permission  to  introduce  to  me  a  clever  young 
man  of  her  acquaintance,  whom  she  even  so  honored  as  to  call 
*'  A  little  John  Henderson ;"  concerning  whom,  this  young  man 
Avished  to  make  inquiries.  An  invitation  immediately  followed, 
and  the  lady  introduced  to  me,  young  Mr.  De  Quincey.  Several 
interviews  followed,  each  exhibiting  his  talents  in  a  more  favor* 
able  view,  till  I  was  satisfied  he  would  either  shine  in  literatiu-e, 
or,  with  steady  perseverance,  acquire  eminence  in  either  of  the 
professions. 

He  made  many  inquiries  respecting  John  Henderson,  of  whose 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE  AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  253 


learning  and  surprising  attainments,  he  had  heard  much.  After 
conversing  long  on  this  subject,  Mr.  De  Q.  asked  me  if  I  knew  any- 
thing of  Mr.  Coleridge's  pecuniary  affairs.  I  replied,  "I  am 
afraid  he  is  a  legitimate  son  of  genius."  He  asked  if  I  thought 
he  would  accept  a  hundred  or  two  pounds.  I  answered,  I  could 
not  tell,  but  that  I  expected  shortly  to  see  him,  Vvdien,  if  he  seriously 
desired  to  learn,  I  would  ascertain  what  the  state  of  his  finances 
was,  and  let  him  know.     This  he  said,  was  his  particular  wish. 

When  Mr.  Coleridge  called  on  me,  and  the  extended  conversa- 
tion had  occurred,  before  stated,  I  asked  him  concerning  his  cir- 
cumstances. He  confessed  that  he  had  some  present  difficulties, 
which  oppressed  his  mind.  He  said  that  all  the  money  he  had 
received  from  his  office  in  Malta,  as  secretary  to  Sir  Alexander  Ball, 
had  been  expended  in  Italy,  and  on  his  way  home.  I  then  told 
him  that  a  young  man  of  fortune,  who  admired  his  talents,  had 
inquired  of  me,  if  I  thought  he  would  accept  the  present  of  a 
hundred  or  two  pounds,  "  and  I  now  ask  you,"  said  I,  "  that 
question,  that  I  may  return  an  answer."  Mr.  Coleridge  arose 
from  his  seat.  He  appeared  much  oppressed,  and  agitated,  and, 
after  a  short  silence,  he  turned  to  me  and  said  :  ''  Cottle,  I  will 
write  to  you.  We  will  change  the  subject."  The  next  day  I 
received  from  Mr.  C.  the  following  letter. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

Independent  of  letter-writing,  and  a  dinner  engagement  with 
C.  Danvers,  I  was  the  whole  of  yesterday  till  evening,  in  a  most 
wretched  restlessness  of  body  and  limbs,  having  imprudently  dis- 
continued some  medicines,  which  are  now  my  anchor  of  hope. 
This  nK)rning  I  dedicate  to  certain  distant  calls  on  Dr.  Beddoes 
and  Colston,  at  Clifton,  not  so  much  for  the  calls  themselves,  as 
for  the  necessity  of  taking  brisk  exercise. 

But  no  unforeseen  accident  interveifing,  I  shall  spend  the  even- 
ing with  you  from  seven  o'clock. 

I  will  now  express  my  sentiments  on  the  important  subject 
communicated  to  you.  I  need  not  say  it  has  been  the  cause  of 
serious  meditation.  Undoubtedly  calamities  have  so  thickened  on 
me  for  the  last  two  years,  that  the  pecuniary  pressures  of  the 
moment,  are  the  only  serious  obstacles  at  present  to  my  com- 


254  REMINISCENCES    OF 

pletion  of  those  works,  which,  if  completed,  would  make  me 
easy.  Besides  these,  I  have  reasons  for  belief  that  a  Tragedy  of 
mine  will  be  brought  on  the  stage  this  season,  the  result  of  which 
is  of  course  only  one  of  the  possibilities  of  life,  on  which  I  am  not 
fool  enough  to  calculate. 

Finally  therefore,  if  you  know  that  any  unknown  benefactor  is 
in  such  circumstances,  that,  in  doing  what  he  offers  to  do,  he 
transgresses  no  duty  of  morals,  or  of  moral  prudence,  and  does  not 
do  that  from  feeling,  which  after  reflection  might  perhaps  dis- 
countenance, I  shall  gratefully  accept  it  as  an  unconditional  loan, 
which  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to  restore  at  the  close  of  two  years. 
This  however,  I  shall  be  able  to  know  at  the  expiration  of  one 
year,  and  shall  then  beg  to  know  the  name  of  my  benefactor, 
which  I  should  then  only  feel  delight  in  knowing,  when  I  could 
present  to  him  some  substantial  proof,  that  I  have  employed  the 
tranquillity  of  mind,  which  his  kindness  has  enabled  me  to  enjoy, 
in  sincere  desires  to  benefit  my  fellow  men.     May  God  bless  you. 

S.  T.  C." 

Soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  (on  my  invitation,)  Mr.  De 
Quincey  called  on  me.  I  said,  I  understood  from  Mr.  Coleridge 
himself,  that  he  labored  under  embarrassments.  "  Then,"  said 
he,  "I  will  give  him  five  hundred  pounds."  "Are  you  serious?" 
I  said.  He  replied,  "  I  am."  I  then  inquired,  "  Are  you  of  age  ?" 
He  said  ''  I  am."  I  then  asked,  "  Can  you  afford  it?"  He  an- 
swered, "I  can,"  and  continued,  "I  shall  not  feel  it."  I  paused. 
*'Well,"  I  said,  "I  can  know  nothing  of  your  circumstances  but 
from  your  own  statement,  and  not  doubting  its  accuracy,  I  am 
wilhng  to  become  an  agent,  in  any  way  you  prescribe."  Mr.  De 
Quincey  then  said,  "  I  authorize  you  to  ask  Mr.  Coleridge  if  he 
will  accept  from  a  gentleman,  Avho  admires  his  genius,  the  sum  of 
five  hundred  pounds,  but  remember,"  he  continued,  "  I  absolutely 
prohibit  you  from  naming  to  him,  the  source  whence  it  was 
derived."  I  remarked  :  "To  the  latter  part  of  your  injunction, 
if  you  require  it,  I  will  accede,  but  although  I  am  deeply  inter- 
ested in  Mr.  Coleridge's  welfare,  yet  a  spirit  of  equity  compels 
me  to  recommend  you,  in  the  first  instance,  to  present  Mr.  C. 
with  a  smaller  sum,  and  which,  if  you  sec  it  right,  you  can  at  any 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  255 

time  augment."  Mr.  De  Quincey  then  replied,  "  Three  hundred 
pounds  I  will  give  him,  and  you  will  obhge  me  by  making  this 
oflfer  of  mine  to  Mr.  Coleridge."  I  replied,  *'  I  will."  I  then 
gave  him  Mr.  Coleridge's  letter,  requesting  him  to  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  read  it  at  his  leisure.  Soon  after,  I  received  the  fol- 
lowing communication  from  Mr.  De  Quincey. 

*'  My  dear  Sir, 

I  will  write  for  the  three  hundred  pounds  to-morrow.  I  am 
not  able  to  say  anything  farther  at  present,  but  will  endeavor  to 
call  on  you  in  a  day  or  two.  I  am  very  sincerely,  and  with  many 
thanks  for  your  trouble  in  this  affair, 

Yours, 
Thomas  De  Quincey." 

In  a  day  or  two  Mr.  De  Quincey  enclosed  me  the  three  hundred 
pounds,  when  I  received  from  Mr.  Coleridge  the  following  receipt 
which  I  still  retain. 

''November  12,  180Y.  Received  from  Mr.  Joseph  Cottle,  the 
sum  of  three  hundred  pounds,  presented  to  me  through  him,  by 
an  unknown  friend. 

Bristol.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

I  have  been  thus  particular  in  detailing  the  whole  of  this  affair, 
so  honorable  to  Mr.  De  Quincey  ;  and  as  I  was  the  communicating 
agent,  I  thought  it  right,  on  this  occasion,  to  give  publicity  to  the 
transaction,  on  the  principle  of  doing  justice  to  all.  Notwith- 
standing the  prohibition,  some  indirect  notices  from  myself,  could 
have  left  no  doubt  with  Mr.  C.  of  the  source  of  this  handsome 
gift. 

It  is  singular,  that  a  little  before  this  time,  (1807,)  Mr.  Coleridge 
had  written  to  his  friend  Mr.  Wade  a  melancholy  letter,  detailing 
his  embarrassed  circumstances  ;  so  that  Mr.  De  Quincey's  three 
hundred  pounds  must  have  been  received  at  an  acceptable  time  ! 

No  date  determines  when  the  following  letter  was  written :  sup- 
posed, 1807. 

"  My  dear  Cottle, 

*         *         *     The  common  end  of  all  narrative,  nay,  of  all 


256  REMINISCENCES   OP 


poems  is,  to  convert  a  series  into  a  whole,  to  make  those  events, 
which,  in  real,  or  imagined  history,  move  on  in  a  straight  hne,  as- 
sume to  our  understandings  a  circular  motion — the  snake  with  its 
tail  in  its  mouth.  Hence,  indeed,  the  almost  flattering  and  ,yet 
appropriate  term,  Poesy,  i.  e.  Poieses — making.  Doubtless,  to 
His  eye,  which  alone  comprehends  all  past  and  all  future,  in  one 
eternal,  what  to  our  short  sight  appears  straight,  is  but  a  part  of 
the  great  cycle,  just  as  the  calm  sea  to  us  appears  level,  though 
it  be  indeed  only  a  part  of  the  globe.  Now  what  the  globe  is  in 
geography,  miniaturing  in  order  to  manifest  the  truth,  such  is  a 
poem  to  that  image  of  God,  which  we  were  created  into,  and 
which  still  seeking  that  unity,  or  revelation  of  the  one,  in  and  by 
the  many,  which  reminds  it,  that  though  in  order  to  be  an  in- 
dividual being,  it  must  go  further  from  God  ;  yet  as  the  receding 
from  him,  is  to  proceed  toward  nothingness  and  privation,  it  must 
still  at  every  step  turn  back  toward  him,  in  order  to  be  at  all.  A 
straight  line  continually  retracted,  forms  of  necessity  a  circular 
orbit.  Now  God's  will  and  word  cannot  be  frustrated.  His  fiat 
was,  with  ineffable  awfulness,  applied  to  man,  when  all  things, 
and  all  living  things,  and  man  himself  (as  a  mei'e  animal)  included, 
were  called  forth  by  the  Universal,  '  Let  there  be,'  and  when  the 
breath  of  the  Eternal  superadded,  to  make  an  immortal  spirit — 
immortality  being,  as  the  author  of  the  '  Wisdom  of  Solomon' 
profoundly  expresses  it,  '  the  only  possible  reflex,  or  image  of 
eternity.'  The  immortal  finite  is  the  contracted  shadow  of  the 
eternal  Infinite.  Therefore  nothingness,  or  death,  to  which  we 
move,  as  we  recede  from  God  and  from  the  Word,  cannot  be 
nothing ;  but  that  tremendous  medium  between  nothing  and  true 
being,  which  Scripture  and  inmost  reason  present  as  most,  most 
horrible ! 

Affectionately, 


S.  T.  C." 


The  following  letter  to  Mr.  Wade  has  no  date, 


"  Tuesday  night,  i.  e.  Wednesday  Morning. 
My  best  and  dearest  Friend, 

I  have  barely  time  to  scribble  a  few  Hues,  so  as  not  to  miss  the 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  257 


post,  for  here  as  everywhere,  there  are  cliaritable  people  who, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  you  have  no  business  of  your  own,  would 
save  from  the  pain  of  vacancy,  by  employing  you  in  theirs. 

As  to  the  letter  you  propose  to  write  to  a  man  who  is  un- 
worthy even  of  a  rebuke  from  jouj  I  might  most  unfeignedly  ob- 
ject to  some  parts  of  it,  from  a  pang  of  conscience  forbidding  me 
to  allow,  even  from  a  dear  friend,  words  of  admiration,  whicli  are 
inapplicable  in  exact  proportion  to  the  power  given  to  me  of 
having  deserved  them,  if  I  had  done  my  duty. 

It  is  not  of  .comparative  utility  I  speak:  for  as  to  what  has 
been  actually  done,  and  in  relation  to  useful  effects  produced, 
whether  on  the  minds  of  individuals,  or  of  the  public,  I  dare 
boldly  stand  forward,  and  (let  every  man  have  his  own,  and  that 
be  counted  mine  which,  but  for,  and  through  me,  would  not  have 
existed)  will  challenge  the  proudest  of  my  literary  contempo- 
raries to  compare  proofs  with  me,  of  usefulness  in  the  excitement 
of  reflection,  and  the  diffusion  of  original  or  forgotten,  yet  neces- 
sary and  important  truths  and  knowledge  ;  and  this  is  not  the 
less  true,  because  I  have  suffered  others  to  reap  all  the  advan- 
tages. But,  O  dear  friend,  this  consciousness,  raised  by  insult  of 
enemies,  and  alienated  friends,  stands  me  in  little  stead  to  my 
own  soul,  in  how  little  then,  before  the  all -righteous  Judge !  who, 
requiring  back  the  talents  he  had  intrusted,  v/ill,  if  the  mercies  of 
Christ  do  not  intervene,  not  demand  of  me  w^hat  I  have  done,  but 
why  I  did  not  do  more ;  why,  with  powers  above  so  many,  I  had 
sunk  in  many  things  below  most !  But  this  is  too  painful,  and  in 
remorsQ  w^e  often  waste  the  energy  v/nich  should  be  better  em- 
ployed in  reformation — that  essential  part,  and  only  possible 
proof,  of  sincere  repentance.         *         ^         * 

May  God  bless  you,  and  your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Toward  the  end  of  1807,  Mr.  Coleridge  left  Bristol,  and  I  saw 
nothing  more  of  him  for  another  seven  years,  that  is,  till  1814. 
All  the  leading  features  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  hfe,  during  these  two 
septennial  periods,  will  no  doubt  be  detailed  by  others.  My  un- 
dertaking recommences  in  1814.     Some  preliminary  remarks  must 


258  REMINISCENCES   OF 


precede  tlie  narrative,  which  has  now  arrrived  at  an  important 
part."^ 

Neither  to  clothe  the  subject  of  biography  with  undeserved  ap- 
plause, nor  unmerited  censure,  but  to  present  an  exact  portraiture, 
is  the  object  which  ought  scrupulously  to  be  aimed  at  by  every 
impartial  writer.  Is  it  expedient ;  is  it  lawful ;  to  give  publicitv- 
to  Mr.  Coleridge's  practice  of  inordinately  taking  opium  ?  which, 
to  a  certain  extent,  at  one  part  of  his  life,  inflicted  on  a  lieart 
naturally  cheerful,  the  stings  of  conscience,  and  sometimes  almost 
the  horrors  of  despair  ?  Is  it  right,  in  reference  to  one  who  has 
passed  his  ordeal,  to  exhibit  sound  principles,  habitually  warring 
with  inveterate  and  injurious  habits  ,'  producing  for  many  years, 
an  accumulation  of  bodily  suffering,  that  wasted  the  frame; 
poisoned  the  sources  of  enjoyment ;  entailed,  in  the  long  retinue  of 
ills,  dependence  and  poverty,  and  with  all  these,  associated  that 
which  was  far  less  bearable,  an  intolerable  mental  load,  that 
scarcely  knew  cessation  ? 

In  the  year  1814,  all  this  I  am  afilicted  to  say,  applied  to  Mr. 
Coleridge.  The  question  to  be  determined  is,  whether  it  be  best 
or  not,  to  obey  the  first  impulse  of  benevolence,  and  throw  a 
mantle  over  these  dark  and  appalling  occurrences,  and  since  the 
sufferer  has  left  this  stao-e  of  existence,  to  mourn  in  secret,  and 
consign  to  oblivion  the  aberrations  of  a  frail  mortal  ?  This  was 
my  first  design,  but  other  thoughts  arose.  If  the  individual  were 
alone  concerned,  the  question  would  be  decided  ;  but  it  might 
also  be  said,  that  the  world  is  interested  in  the  disclosures  con- 
nected with  this  part  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  life.  His  example  forms 
one  of  the  most  impressive  memorials  the  pen  ever  recorded  ;  so 
that  thousands  hereafter,  may  derive  instruction  from  viewing  in 
Mr.  C.  much  to  approve,  and  in  other  features  of  his  character, 
much  also  to  regret  and  deplore.  Once  Mr.  Coleridge  expressed 
to  me,  with  indescribable  emotion,  the  joy  he  should  feel,  if  he 
could  collect  around  him  all  who  were  "  beginning  to  tamper 
with  the  lulling,  but  fatal  draught ;"  so  that  he  might  proclaim  as 
with  a  trumpet,   ''the  worse  than  death  that  opium  entailed.'' 

*  The  following  notice  of  Mr.  C.'s  opium  habits,  with  the  reasons  for  dis- 
closing them,  were  prejSxed  to  the  "  Early  Recollections,"  ten  years  ago,  but 
the  arguments  are  equally  applicable  at  this  time,  1847. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  259 

I  must  add,  if  he  could  now  speak  from  his  grave,  retaining  his 
earthly,  benevolent  solicitude  for  the  good  of  others,  with  an  em- 
phasis that  penetrated  the  heart,  he  would  doubtless  utter,  "  Let 
my  example  be  a  warning  !" 

This  being  my  settled  conviction,  it  becomes  in  me  a  duty,  with 
all  practicable  mildness,  to  give  publicity  to  the  following  facts  ; 
in  which  censure  will  often  be  suspended  by  compassion,  and 
every  feeling  be  absorbed  in  that  of  pity ;  in  which,  if  the  veil 
be  removed,  it  will  only  be,  to  present  a  clear  and  practical  exem- 
plification of  the  consequences  that  progressively  follow  indulgen- 
ces in,  what  Mr.  Coleridge  latterly  denominated,  "  the  accursed 
drug !" 

To  soften  the  repugnance  which  might,  pardonably,  arise  in  the 
minds  of  some  of  Mr.  C.'s  friends,  it  is  asked,  whether  it  be  not 
enough  to  move  a  breast  of  adamant,  to  behold  a  man  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge's genius,  spell-bound  by  his  narcotic  draughts  ?  deploring, 
as  he  has  done,  in  his  letters  to  myself,  the  destructive  conse- 
quences of  opium  ;  writhing  under  its  effects, — so  injurious  to 
mind,  body,  and  estate ;  submitting  to  the  depths  of  humiliation 
and  poverty,  and  all  this  for  a  season  at  least,  accompanied  with 
no  effectual  effort  to  burst  his  fetters,  and  assume  the  station  in 
society  which  became  his  talents  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  submitting 
patiently  to  dependence,  and  grovelhng  where  he  ought  to  soar ! 

Another  powerful  reason,  which  should  reconcile  the  friends  of 
Mr.  Coleridge  to  this  detail  of  his  destructive  habits,  arises  from 
the  recollection  that  the  pain  given  to  their  minds,  is  present  and 
temporary.  They  should  wisely  consider  that,  though  4}hey  re- 
gret, their  regrets,  like  themselves,  as  time  rolls  on,  are  passing 
away !  but  the  example, — this  clear,  full,  incontestable  example, 
remains  I  And  who  can  estimate  the  beneficial  consequences  of 
this  undisguised  statement  to  numerous  succeeding  individuals  ? 
It  is  consolatory  to  believe,  that  had  I  written  nothing  else,  this 
humble  but  unflinching  narrative  would  be  an  evidence  that  I  had 
not  lived  in  vain. 

When  it  is  considered  also,  how  many  men  of  high  mental  en- 
dowments, have  shrouded  their  lustre,  by  a  passion  for  this  stim- 
ulus, and  thereby,  prematurely,  become  fallen  spirits :  would  it 
not  be  a  criminal  concession  to  unauthorized  feelings,  to  allow  so 


260  REMINISCENCES    OF 

impressive  an  exhibition  of  this  subtle  species  of  intemperance  to 
escape  from  piibHc  notice ;  and,  that  no  discredit  might  attach  to 
tlie  memory  of  the  individual  we  love,  to  conceal  an  example, 
fraught  with  so  much  instruction,  brouoht  out  into  full  display  ? 
In  the  exhibition  here  made,  the  inexperienced,  in  future,  may 
learn  a  memorable  lesson,  and  be  taught  to  shrink  from  opium,  as 
they  would  from  a  scorpion  ;  which,  before  it  destroys,  invariably 
expels  peace  from  the  mind,  and  excites  the  worst  species  of  con- 
flict, that  53f  setting  a  man  at  war  with  himself. 

The  most  expressive  and  pungent  of  all  Mr.  Coleridge's  self- 
upbraidings,  is  that,  in  which  he  thrills  the  inmost  heart,  by  say- 
ing, with  a  sepulchral  solemnity,  "  I  have  learned  what  a  sin  is 
against  an  infinite,  imperishable  being,  such  as  is  the  soul  of 
man  !"  And  yet,  is  this,  and  such  as  this,  to  be  devoted  to  for- 
getfulness,  and  all  be  sacrificed,  lest  some  friend,  disdaining  util- 
ity, should  prefer  flattery  to  truth  ?  A  concession  to  such  advice 
would  be  treachery  and  pusillanimity  combined,  at  Avhich  none 
would  so  exult  as  the  spirits  of  darkness. 

If  some  of  the  preceding  language  should  be  deemed  too  strong, 
by  those  who  take  but  a  contracted  view  of  the  subject,  and  who 
would  wish  to  screen  the  dead,  rather  than  to  improve  the  living, 
let  them  judge  what  their  impressions  would  be,  in  receiving,  like 
myself,  at  this  time,  the  communications  from  Mr.  C,  which  will 
subsequently  appear,  and  then  dispassionately  ask  themselves, 
whether  such  impressive  lessons  of  instruction  ought  to  be  doomed 
to  oblivion. 

The  folloAving  letter  to  Mr.  Wade,  has  no  date,  but  the  post- 
mark determines  it  to  have  been  Dec.  8,  1813. 

*  *         ^'  "  Since  my  arrival  at  the  Greyhound,  Bath, 

I  have  been  confined  to  my  bedroom,  almost  to  my  bed.  Pray  for 
my  recovery,  and  request  Mr.  Roberts's'^  prayers,  for  my  infirm, 
wicked  heart ;  that  Christ  may  mediate  to  the  Father,  to  lead  me 
to  Christ,  and  give  me  a  living  instead  of  a  reasoning  faith  1  and 

*  A  dissenting  minister  of  Bristol. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  261 


for  my  health,  so  far  only  as  it  may  be  the  condition  of  my  im- 
provement, and  final  redemption. 

My  dear  affectionate  friend,  I  am  your  obliged,  and  grateful, 
and  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

I  now  proceed  further  to  notice  Mr.  Coleridge's  re-appearance 
in  Bristol. 

Mr.  C.  had  written  from  London  in  the  year  1814,  to  a  friend 
in  Bristol,  to  announce  that  he  was  coming  down  to  give  a  course 
of  Lectures  on  Shakspeare,  such  as  he  had  delivered  at  the  Royal 
Institution,  London,  and  expressing  a  hope  that  his  friends  would 
obtain  for  him  as  many  subscribers  as  they  could.  Great  efforts 
were  made  to  obtain  these  subscribers,  and  the  lectures  were  ac- 
cordingly advertised,  to  commence  at  the  time  appointed  by  the 
lecturer,  and  the  place  specified  with  the  day  and  hour ;  of  the 
whole  of  which  arrangement  Mr.  C.  had  received  due  notice,  and 
expressed  his  approval. 

On  the  morning  on  which  the  lectures  were  to  begin,  a  brother 
of  Mr.  George  Cumberland,  (a  gentleman  well  known  in  the  liter- 
ary world,  residing  in  Bristol,)  arrived  in  this  city  from  London, 
on  a  visit  to  his  brother,  and  casually  said  to  him,  "  I  came  as  far 
as  Bath  with  one  of  the  most  amusing  men  I  ever  met  with.  At 
the  White  Horse,  Piccadilly,  he  entered  the  coach,  when  a  Jew 
boy  came  up  with  pencils  to  sell.  This  amusing  gentleman  asked 
the  boy  a  few  questions,  when  his  answers  being  what  he  thought 
unusually  acute,  the  gentleman  said,  '  that  boy  is  not  where  he 
ought  to  be.  He  has  talent,  and  if  I  had  not  an  important  en- 
gagement at  Bristol  to-morrow,  I  would  not  mind  the  loss  of  my 
fare,  but  would  stay  a  day  or  two  in  London  to  provide  some  bet- 
ter condition  for  him.'  He  then  called  the  waiter ;  wrote  to  a 
gentleman  in  the  neighborhood,  with  a  pencil,  urging  him  to  pa- 
Tonize  the  bearer ;  gave  the  boy  five  shillings,  and  sent  him,  with 
:he  waiter,  according  to  the  address  of  the  note." 

This  same  gentleman,  he  said,  talked  incessantly  for  thirty  miles 
)ut  of  London,  in  the  most  entertaining  way,  and  afterwards,  with 
ittle  intermission,  till  they  arrived  about  Marlborough,  when  he 
liscovered  that  the  lady  who  was  in  the  coach  with  them,  was 


262  REMINISCENCES   OF 


the  sister  of  a  particular  friend  of  his.  *'  On  our  arrival  at  Bath," 
said  the  brother,  "  this  entertaining  gentleman  observed  to  me,  '  I 
must  here  quit  you,  as  I  am  determined  not  to  leave  this  lady, 
who  is  going  into  North  Wales,  till  I  have  seen  her  safe  at  her 
•brother's  door  ;'  so  here  the  amusing  gentleman  left  us." 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Cumberland,  "  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
that  were  Coleridge,  and  yet  that  cannot  be,  for  he  has  an  ap- 
pointment this  day  in  Bristol."  "  That  is  the  very  name,"  said 
his  brother.  Mr.  G.  C.  remarked,  "  This  Mr.  Coleridge  is  coming 
to  Bristol,  to  give  us  a  course  of  lectures  on  Shakspeare,  and  this 
evening  he  has  appointed  for  his  first  lecture,  at  the  Great  Room, 
White  Lion."  "  W^hatever  the  engagement  may  be,"  replied  the 
brother,  ''rely  upon  it,  you  will  have  no  lecture  this  evening. 
Mr.  C.  at  the  present  moment  is  posting  hard  towards  North 
Wales  !"  The  great  business  now  was  for  those  who  had  inter- 
ested themselves  in  the  sale  of  tickets  for  the  course,  to  hasten 
round  to  the  purchasers,  to  announce  that  Mr.  C.  would  be  pre- 
vented from  giving  the  lectures  till  further  notice. 

In  two  or  three  days  Mr.  Coleridge  presented  himself  in  Bris- 
tol, after  a  right  true  journey  into  North  Wales  ;  and  then,  another 
day  was  appointed  to  begin  the  course.  The  day  arrived.  His 
friends  met  in  the  afternoon,  full  of  anxiety,  lest  a  second  disap- 
pointment should  take  place.  Not  one  of  them  had  seen  Mr.  C. 
in  the  course  of  that  day,  and  they  could  not  tell  where  he  had 
dined.  They  then  set  off,  to  find  out  this  intricate  point,  and  hav- 
ing discovered  him,  after  some  difficulty,  hurried  him  from  the 
bottle,  and  the  argument,  to  fulfil  his  less  important,  or  at  least, 
his  less  pleasing  engagement. 

He  arrived  at  the  lecture-room,  just  one  hour  after  all  the  com- 
pany had  impatiently  awaited  him.  Apologizing  for  an  unavoid- 
able interruption!  Mr.  C.  commenced  his  lecture  orr  Hamlet.  I 
The  intention  is  not  entertained  of  pursuing  this  subject,  except 
to  remark,  that  no  other  important  delay  arose,  and  that  the  lec- 
tures gave  great  satisfaction.  I  forbear  to  make  further  remarks, 
because  these  lectures  will  form  part  of  the  London  narrative. 

After  this  course  had  been  terminated,  and  one  or  more  friends 
had  given  him  five  pounds  for  his  ticket,  so  rich  a  mine  was  not; 
to  be  abandoned.     Another  printed  proposal  was  sent  round  for 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  263 

a  course  of  six  lectures,  which  was  well  attended.  After  this  a 
proposal  came  for  four  lectures,  which  were  but  indifferently  at- 
tended. Not  discouraged,  Mr.  C.  now  issued  proposals  on  a  new 
subject,  which  he  hoped  Avould  attract  the  many ;  but  alas,  al- 
though the  subject  of  the  lectures  was  on  no  less  a  theme  than 
that  of  Homer,  only  a  few  of  his  old  stanch  friends  attended  ; 
the  public  were  wearied  out,  and  the  plan  of  lecturing  now  ceased, 
for  these  latter  lectures  scarcely  paid  the  expenses. 

I  should  here  mention,  that  Mr.  Coleridge's  lectures  bore  but  a 
small  resemblance  to  the  polished  compositions  of  Sir  James 
Mackintosh.  They  were  all  of  a  conversational  character,  and 
were  little  other  than  the  earnest  harangues,  with  which  on  all 
possible  occasions,  he  indulged  his  friends,  so  that  there  was  lit- 
tle of  the  toil  of  preparation  with  him,  and  if  the  demand  had 
been  equal  to  the  supply,  he  might  have  lectured  continuously. 
But  if  there  was  little  of  formal  and  finished  composition  in  Mr. 
C.'s  lectures,  there  were  always  racy  and  felicitous  passages,  in- 
dicating deep  thought,  and  indicative  of  the  man  of  genius  ;  so 
that  if  polish  was  not  always  attained,  as  one  mark  of  excellence, 
the  attention  of  his  hearers  never  flagged,  and  his  large  dark  eyes, 
and  his  coimtenance,  in  an  excited  state,  glowing  with  intellect, 
predisposed  his  audience  in  liis  favor. 

It  may  here  be  mentioned,  that  in  the  year  1814,  when  Bo- 
naparte was  captured  and  sent  to  Elba,  the  public  expression  of 
joy  burst  forth  in  a  general  illumination  ;  when  Mr.  Josiah  Wade, 
wishing  to  display  a  large  transparency,  applied  to  his  friend  Mr. 
Coleridge  then  residing  with  him,  for  a  subject,  as  a  guide  to  his 
ingenious  painter,  of  v/hich  the  following  is  a  copy  from  Mr.  C.'s 
original. 

The  four  lines  Avere  chosen,  of  which  the  two  last  have  some- 
thing of  a  prophetic  aspect. 

"  On  the  right  side  of  the  transparency,  a  rock  with  the  word  Elba  on  it: 
chained  to  this  by  one  leg,  put  a  vulture  with  the  head  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte; then  a  female  genius,  representing  Britannia,  in  a  bending  posture, 
with  one  hand  holding  out  one  wing  of  the  vulture,  and  with  the  other  clip- 
ping it  with  a  large  pair  of  shears ;  on  the  one  half  of  which  appears  either 
the  word  '  Wellington,'  or  the  word  '  army,'  and  on  the  other,  either  '  Nel- 
son,' or  else  '  navy  ;'  I  should  prefer  Wellington  and  Nelson,  but  that  I 


2G4  REMINISCENCES   OP 


fear  Wellington  may  be  a  word  of  too  many  letters.  Behind  Britannia,  and 
occupying  the  right  side  of  the  transparency,  a  slender  gilded  colmnn,  with 
'  trade'  on  its  base,  and  the  cap  of  hberty  on  its  top ;  and  on  one  side,  lean- 
ing against  it,  a  tiident  laurelled,  and  on  the  other  a  laurelled  sword. 

At  the  top  of  the  transparency,  and  quite  central,  a  dove,  with  an  olive 
branch,  may  be  hovering  over  the  bending  figure  of  Britannia. 

N.  B. — The  trident  to  be  placed  with  the  points  upward,  the  sword  with 
its  hilt  upward. 

We've  conquer'd  us  a  peace,  like  lads  true  metall'd: 
And  bankrupt  Nap.'s  accompts  seem  all  now  settled. 


We've  fought  for  peace,  and  conquer'd  it  at  last, 
The  rav'ning  vulture's  leg  seems  fetter'd  fast ! 
Britons,  rejoice  !  and  yet  be  wary  too  ; 
The  chain  may  break,  the  dipt  wing  sprout  anew." 

Returning  now  to  the  lectures.  During  their  delivery  it  was 
remarked  by  many  of  Mr.  C.'s  friends,  with  great  pain,  that  there 
was  something  unusual  and  strange  in  his  look  and  deportment. 
The  true  cause  was  known  to  few,  and  least  of  all  to  myself.  At 
one  of  the  lectures,  meeting  Mr.  Coleridge  at  the  inn  door,  he  said, 
grasping  my  hand  with  great  solemnity,  "  Cottle,  this  day  week 
I  shall  not  be  alive  !"  I  was  alarmed,  and  speaking  to  another 
friend,  he  replied,  "  Do  not  be  afraid.  It  is  only  one  of  Mr.  C.'s 
odd  fancies."  After  another  of  the  lectures,  he  called  me  on  one 
side,  and  said,  "  My  dear  friend,  a  dirty  fellow  has  threatened  to 
arrest  me  for  ten  pounds."  Shocked  at  the  idea,  I  said,  '*  Cole- 
ridge, you  shall  not  go  to  jail  while  I  can  help  it,"  and  imme- 
diately gave  him  the  ten  pounds. 

The  following  two  letters  were  sent  me,  I  believe,  at  or  about 
this  time.     They  have  no  date. 

''  My  dear  Cottle, 

An  erysipelatous  complaint,  of  an  alarming  nature,  has  rendered 
me  barely  able  to  attend  and  go  through  with  my  lectures,  the 
receipts  of  which,  have  almost  paid  the  expenses  of  the  room,  ad- 
vertisements, &c.*     Whether  this  be  to  my  discredit,  or  that  of 

*  It  is  apprehended  that  this  must  be  a  mistake.  I  sent  Mr.  Coleridge  five 
guineas  for  my  Shakspeare  ticket,  and  entertain  no  doubt  but  that  some  others 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  265 

the  good  citizens  of  Bristol,  it  is  not  for  me  to  judge.  I  have 
been  persuaded  to  make  another  trial,  by  advertising  three  lec- 
tures, on  the  rise,  and  progress,  and  conclusion  of  the  French 
Revolution,  with  a  critique  on  the  proposed  constitution;  but 
unless  fifty  names  are  procured,  not  a  lecture  give  I. 

Even  so  the  two  far,  far  more  important  lectures,  for  which  I 
have  long  been  preparing  myself,  and  have  given  more  thought 
to,  than  to  any  other  subject,  viz.  those  on  female  education, 
from  infancy  to  womanhood  practically  systematized,  I  shall  be 
(God  permitting)  ready  to  give  the  latter  end  of  the  week  after 
next,  but  upon  condition  that  I  am  assured  of  sixty  names. 
Why,  as  these  are  lectures  that  I  must  write  down,  I  could  sell 
them  as  a  recipe  for  twice  the  sum  at  least. 

If  I  can  walk  out,  I  will  be  with  you  on  Sunday.  .Has  Mr. 
Wade  called  on  you  ?  Mr.  Le  Breton,  a  near  neighbor  of  yours, 
in  Portland  Square,  would,  if  you  sent  a  note  to  him,  converse 
with  you  on  any  subject  relative  to  my  interest,  with  congenial 
sympathy  ;  but  indeed  I  think  your  idea  one  of  those  chime- 
ras, which  kindness  begets  upon  an  unacquaintance  with  man- 
kind.* 

'  Harry  !  thy  wish  was  father  to  that  thought.' 

God  bless  you, 

S.  T.  C." 

''  My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  been  engaged  three  days  past,  to  dine  with  the  sheriff, 
at  Merchant's  Hall  to-morrow.  As  they  will  not  wield  knife  and 
fork  till  near  six,  I  cannot  of  course  attend  the  meeting,  [for  the 
establishment  of  an  Infant  School,]  but  should  it  be  put  off,  and 
you  will  give  me  a  little  longer  notice,  I  will  do  my  best  to  make 
my  humble  talents  serviceable  in  their  proportion  to  a  cause  in 
which  I  take  no   common  interest,  which  has  always   my  best 

did  the  same.  But  his  remark  may  refer  to  some  succeeding  lectures,  of  which 
I  have  no  distinct  recollection. 

*  A  request  of  permission  from  Mr.  Coleridge,  to  call  on  a  few  of  his  known 
friends,  to  see  if  we  could  not  raise  an  annuity  for  him  of  one  hundred  a  year, 
that  he  might  pursue  his  literary  objects  without  pecuniary  distractions. 

12 


266  REMINISCENCES   OF 

wislies,  and  not  seldom   my  pvayers.     God  bless  you  and  your  I 
affectionate  friend,  ' 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

P.  S.  To  you  who  know  I  prefer  a  roast  potato  and  salt  to  the  j 
most  splendid  public  dinner,  the  very  siglit  of  which  always 
offends  my  infant  appetite,  I  need  not  say  that  I  am  actuated 
solely  by  my  pre- engagement,  and  by  the  impropriety  of  dii^ap- 
pointing  the  friend  wdiom  I  am  to  accompany,  and  to  whom  prob- 
ably I  owe  the  unexpected  compliment  of  the  sheriff's  invitation. 

I  have  read  two-thirds  of  Dr.  Pole's^^  pamphlet  on  Infant 
Schools,  with  great  interest.  Thoughts  on  thoughts,  feelings  on 
feelings,  crowded  upon  my  mind  and  heart  during  the  perusal, 
and  which  I  w^ould  fain,  God  vv  iiiing,  give  vent  to !  I  truly  t 
honor  and  love  the  orthodox  dissenters,  and  appreciate  Avith 
heart-esteem  their  works  of  love.  I  have  read,  with  much  pleas- 
ure, the  second  preface  to  the  second  edition  of  your  '  Alfred.' 

It  is  well  written." 

ll 

Mr.  Coleridge's  health  appeared,  at  this  time,  increasingly  pre- 
carious ;  one  complaint  rapidly  succeeded  another;  as  will  appeai 
by  the  three  following  notes.  , 

'^1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

On  my  return  home  yesterday,  I  continued  unwell,"  so  as  to  be 
obliged  to  lie  down  for  the  greater  part  of  the  evening,  and  my 
indisposition  keeping  me  awake  during  the  whole  night,  I  found! 
it  necessary  to  take  some  magnesia  and  calomel,  and  I  am  atpres- ' 
ent  very  sick.  I  have  little  chance  of  being  able  to  stir  out  this 
morning,  but  if  I  am  better,  I  w^ll  see  you  in  the  evening.  God 
bless  you, 

Mr.  Wade's,  Queen  Square,  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Written  on  a  card. 

"  1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

The  first  time  I  have  been  out  of  the  house,  save  once  at  meet- 

*  A  worthy  medical  Friend  of  Bristol,  who  first  in  that  city,  interested  him- 
self in  the  establishment  of  infant  schools. 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  267 

ing  ;  and  the  very  first  call  I  have  made.  I  will  be  with  you  to- 
morrow by  noon,  if  I  have  no  relapse.  This  is  the  third  morning, 
that,  thank  heaven,  I  have  been  free  from  vomiting."     ^      '^      ^ 

Mr.  Coleridge  having  designed  to  attend  Broadmead  meeting, 
I  sent  him  a  note  to  inquire  if  he  would  allow  me  to  call  and  take 
him  up  ;  he  sent  me  the  following  reply. 

''1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

It  was  near  ten  before  the  maid  got  up,  or  waked  a  soul  in  the 
house.  We  are  all  in  a  hurry,  for  we  had  all  meant  to  go  to 
Broadmead.  As  to  dining,  I  have  not  five  minutes  to  spare  to  the 
family  below,  at  meals.  Do  not  call,  for,  if  possible,  I  shall  meet 
you  at  the  Meeting. 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 
Mr.  Wade's,  Queen  Square. 

I  must  now  enter  on  a  subject  of  profound  interest.  I  had 
often  spoken  to  Hannah  More  of  S.  T.  Coleridge,  and  proceeded 
with  him,  one  morning  to  Barley  Wood,  her  residence,  eleven 
miles  from  Bristol.  The  interview  Avas  mutually  agreeable,  nor 
was  there  any  lack  of  conversation ;  but  I  was  struck  with  some- 
thing singular  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  eye.  I  expressed  to  a  friend, 
the  next  day,  my  concern  at  having  beheld  him,  during  his  visit 
to  Hannah  More,  so  extremely  paralytic,  his  hands  shaking  to  an 
alarming  degree,  so  that  he  could  not  take  a  glass  of  wine  without 
spilling  it,  though  one  hand  supported  the  other!  ''That,"  said 
he,  "  arises  from  the  immoderate  quantity  of  opium  he  takes." 

It  is  remarkable,  that  this  was  the  first  time  the  melancholy 
fact  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  excessive  indulgence  in  opium  had  come  to 
my  knowledge.  It  astonished  and  afflicted  me.  Now  the  cause 
of  his  ailments  became  manifest.  On  this  subject  Mr.  C.  may 
have  been  communicative  to  others,  but  to  me  he  was  silent.  I 
now  saw  it  was  mistaken  kindness  to  give  him  money,  as  I  had 
learned  that  he  indulged  in  his  potions  according  to  the  extent 
of  his  means,  so  that  to  be  temperate,  it  was  expedient  that  he 
should  be  poor. 


268  REMINISCENCES   OF 

I  ruminated  long  upon  this  subject,  with  indescribable  sorrow ; 
and  having  ascertained  from  others,  not  only  the  existence  of  the 
evil,  but  its  extent,  so  as  to  render  doubt  impossible,  such  was  the 
impression  of  duty  on  my  mind,  I  determined,  however  hazardous, 
to  write  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  and  that  faithfully,  otherwise,  I  consid- 
ered myself  not  a  friend,  but  an  enemy.  At  the  end  of  his 
course,  therefore,  I  addressed  to  him  the  following  letter,  under 
the  full  impression  that  it  was  a  case  of  ''  life  and  death,"  and 
that  if  some  strong  effort  were  not  made  to  arouse  him  from  his 
insensibility,  speedy  destruction  must  inevitably  follow.  Nothmg 
but  so  extreme  a  case,  could  have  prompted,  or  could  justify, 
such  a  letter  as  the  following. 

"Bristol,  April  25,  1814. 
Dear  Coleridge, 

I  am  conscious  of  being  influenced  by  the  purest  motives  in 
addressing  to  you  the  following  letter.  Permit  me  to  remind  you 
that  I  am  the  oldest  friend  you  have  in  Bristol,  that  I  was  such 
when  my  friendship  was  of  more  consequence  to  you  than  it  is  at 
present,  and  that  at  that  time,  you  were  neither  insensible  of  my 
kindnesses  nor  backward  to  acknowledore  them.  I  brinfy  these 
things  to  your  remembrance,  to  impress  on  your  mind,  that  it  is 
still  a  friend  who  is  writing  to  you ;  one  who  ever  has  been  such, 
and  who  is  now  going  to  give  you  the  most  decisive  evidence  of 
his  sincerity. 

When  I  think  of  Coleridge,  I  wish  to  recall  the  image  of  him, 
such  as  he  appeared  in  past  years  ;  now,  how  has  the  baneful  use 
of  opium  thrown  a  dark  cloud  over  you  and  your  prospects.  I 
would  not  say  anything  needlessly  harsh  or  unkind,  but  I  must 
be  faithful.  It  is  the  irresistible  voice  of  conscience.  Others 
may  still  flatter  you,  and  hang  upon  your  words,  but  I  have 
another,  though  a  less  gracious  duty  to  perform.  I  see  a  brother 
sinning  a  sin  unto  death,  and  shall  I  not  warn  him  ?  I  see  him 
perhaps  on  the  borders  of  eternity,  in  effect,  despising  his  Maker's 
law,  and  yet  indiflerent  to  his  perilous  state  ! 

In  recalling  what  the  expectations  concerning  you  once  were, 
and  the  excellency  with  which,  seven  years  ago,  you  wrote  and 
spoke  on  religious  truth,  my  heart  bleeds  to  see  how  you  are  now 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  269 

fallen ;  and  thus  to  notice,  how  many  exhilarating  hopes  are 
almost  blasted  by  your  present  habits.  This  is  said,  not  to  wound, 
but  to  arouse  you  to  reflection. 

I  know  full  well  the  evidences  of  the  pernicious  drug  !  You 
cannot  be  unconscious  of  the  effects,  though  you  may  wish  to  for- 
get the  cause.  All  around  you  behold  the  wild  eye  !  the  sallow 
countenance  !  the  tottering  step !  the  trembling  hand !  the  dis- 
ordered frame  !  and  yet  will  you  not  be  awakened  to  a  sense  of 
your  danger,  and  I  must  add,  your  guilt  ?  Is  it  a  small  thing, 
that  one  of  the  finest  of  human  understandings  should  be  lost ! 
That  your  talents  should  be  buried  !  That  most  of  the  influences 
to  be  derived  from  your  present  example,  should  be  in  direct  op- 
position to  right  and  virtue  !  It  is  true  you  still  talk  of  religion, 
and  profess  the  warmest  admiration  of  the  church  and  her  doc- 
trines, in  which  it  would  not  be  lawful  to  doubt  your  sincerity ; 
but  can  you  be  unaware,  that  by  your  unguarded  and  inconsistent 
conduct,  you  are  furnishing  arguments  to  the  infidel ;  giving  oc- 
casion for  the  enemy  to  blaspheme  ;  and  (amongst  those  who  im- 
perfectly know  you)  throwing  suspicion  over  your  religious  pro- 
fession !  Is  not  the  great  test  in  somc^neasure  against  you,  '  By 
their  fruits  je  shall  know  them  ?'  Are  there  never  any  calm 
moments,  when  you  impartially  judge  of  your  own  actions  by 
their  consequences  ? 

Not  to  reflect  on  you  ;  not  to  give  you  a  moment's  needless  pain, 
but  in  the  spirit  of  friendship,  sufl*er  me  to  bring  to  your  recol- 
lection, some  of  the  sad  effects  of  your  undeniable  intemperance. 

I  know  you  have  a  correct  love  of  honest  independence,  without 
which,  there  can  be  no  true  nobility  of  mind  ;  and  yet  for  opium, 
70U  will  sell  this  treasure,  and  expose  yourself  to  the  liability  of 
arrest,  by  some  'dirty  fellow,'  to  whom  you  choose  to  be  indebted 
for  *  ten  pounds  !'  You  had,  and  still  have,  an  acute  sense  of 
moral  right  and  wrong,  but  is  not .  the  feeling  sometimes  over- 
oowered  by  self-indulgence  ?  Permit  me  to  remind  you,  that  you 
ire  not  more  suff"ering  in  your  mind  than  you  are  in  your  body, 
svhile  you  are  squandering  largely  your  money  in  the  purchase  of 
)pium,  which,  in  the  strictest  equity,  should  receive  a  different 
iirection. 

I  will  not  again  refer  to  the  mournful  eff'ects  produced  on  your 


270  REMINISCENCES   OF 

own  health  from  this  indulgence  in  opium,  by  which  you  have  un- 
dermined your  strong  constitution ;  but  I  must  notice  the  injurious 
consequences  which  this  passion  for  the  narcotic  drug  has  on  your 
literary  efforts.  What  you  have  already  done,  excellent  as  it  is, 
is  considered  by  your  friends  and  the  world,  as  the  bloom,  the 
mere  promise  of  the  harvest.  Will  you  suffer  the  fatal  draught, 
which  is  ever  accompanied  by  sloth,  to  rob  you  of  your  fame, 
and,  what  to  you  is  a  higher  motive,  of  your  power  of  doing  good ; 
of  giving  fragrance  ten*  your  memory,  amongst  the  worthies  of 
future  years,  when  you  are  numbered  with  the  dead  ? 

[And  now  I  would  wish  in  the  most  delicate  manner,  to 
remind  you  of  the  injurious  effects  which  these  habits  of  yours 
produce  on  your  family.  From  the  estimation  in  which  you  are 
held  by  the  public,  I  am  clear  in  stating,  that  a  small  daily  exer- 
tion on  your  part,  would  be  sufficient  to  obtain  for  you  and  them, 
honor,  happiness,  and  independence.  You  are  still  comparatively, 
a  young  man,  and  in  such  a  cause,  labor  is  sweet.  Can  you  with- 
hold so  small  a. sacrifice  ?  Let  me  sincerely  advise  you  to  return 
home,  and  live  in  the  circle  once  more  of  your  wife  and  family 
There  may  have  been  fauMI  on  one,  possibly  on  both  sides  :  but 
calumny  itself  has  never  charged  criminality.  J^et  all  be  forgot- 
ten, a  small  effort  for  the  christian.  If  I  can  become  a  mediator, 
command  me.  If  you  could  be  prevailed  on  to  adopt  this  plan,  jl 
I  will  gladly  defray  your  expenses  to  Keswick,  and  I  am  sure,  '' 
with  better  habits,  you  would  be  hailed  by  your  family,  I  was 
almost  going  to  say,  as  an  angel  from  heaven.  It  will  also  look 
better  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  who  are  always  prompt  with  their 
own  constructions,  and  these  constructions  are  rarely  the  most 
charitable.  It  would  also  powerfully  promote  your  own  peace  of 
mind. 

There  is  this  additional  view,  which  ought  to  influence  you,  as 
it  would  every  generous  mind.  Your  wife  and  children  are  do- 
mesticated with  Southey.  He  has  a  family  of  his  own,  which  by 
his  literary  labor,  he  supports,  to  his  great  honor ;  and  to  the 
extra  provision  required  of  him  on  your  account,  he  cheerfidly 
submits  ;  still,  will  you  not  divide  with  him  the  honor  ?  You 
have  not  extinguished  in  your  heart  the  Father's  feelings.  Your 
daughter  is  a  sweet  girl.     Your  two  boys  are  promising ;  and 


i 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  271 

Hartley,  concerning  whom  you  once  so  affectionately  wrote,  is 
eminently  clever.  These  want  only  a  father's  assistance  to  give 
them  credit  and  honorable  stations  in  life.  Will  you  withhold  so 
equitable  and  small  a  boon  ?  Your  eldest  son  will  soon  be  quali- 
fied for  the  university,  where  your  name  would  inevitably  secure 
him  patronage,  but  without  your  aid,  how  is  he  to  arrive  there  ; 
and  afterward,  how  is  he  to  be  supported  ?  Revolve  on  these 
things,  I  entreat  you,  calmly,  on  your  pillow. j^"^ 

And  now  let  me  conjure  you,  alike  by  the  voice  of  friendship, 
and  the  duty  you  owe  yourself  and  family  :  above  all,  by  the 
reverence  you  feel  for  the  cause  of  Christianity ;  by  the  fear  of 
God,  and  the  awfulness  of  eternity,  to  renounce  from  this  mo- 
ment opium  and  spirits,  as  your  bane  !•  Frustrate  not  the  great 
end  of  3^our  existence.  Exert  the  ample  abilities  v^^hich  God  has 
given  you,  as  a  faithful  steward  ;  so  will  you  secure  your  rightful 
pre-eminence  amongst  the  sons  of  genius  ;  recover  your  cheerful- 
ness ;  youi'  health  ;  I  trust  it  is  not  too  late  !  become  reconciled 
to  yourself;  and  through  the  merits  of  that  Saviour,  in  whom 
you  profess  to  trust,  obtain,  at  last,  the  approbation  of  your 
Maker  !  My  dear  Coleridge,  be  wise  before  it  be  too  late  !  I  do 
hope  to  see  you  a  renovated  man  !  and  that  you  will  still  burst 
your  inglorious  fetters,  and  justify  the  best  hopes  of  your  friends. 

Excuse  the  freedom  with  which  I  write.  If  at  the  first  mo- 
ment it  should  oflfend,  on  reflection,  you  will  approve  at  least  of 
the  motive,  and,  perhaps,  in  a  better  state  of  mind,  thank  and 
bless  me.  If  all  the  good  which  I  have  prayed  for,  should  not 
be  eff'ected  by  this  letter,  I  have  at  least  discharged  an  imperious 
sense  of  duty.  I  wish  my  manner  were  less  exceptionable,  as  I 
do  that  the  advice  through  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty,  might 
prove  effectual.  The  tear  which  bedims  my  eye,  is  an  evidence 
of  the  sincerity  vfith  which  I  subscribe  myself 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

Joseph  Cottle." 

*  This  iong  sentence,  between  brackets,  was  struck  out  by  Mr.  Southey,  in 
perusing  the  MS.,  through  delicacy,  as  it  referred  to  himself;  but  on  the  present 
occasion  it  is  restored. 


272  REMINISCENCES   OF 


The  following  is  Mr.  Coleridge's  reply. 


"April  26th,  1814. 

Yon  have  poured  oil  in  the  raw  and  festering  wound  of  an  old 
friend's  conscience,  Cottle  !  but  it  is  oil  of  vitriol  /  I  but  barely- 
glanced  at  the  middle  of  the  first  page  of  your  letter,  and  have 
seen  no  more  of  it — not  from  resentment,  God  forbid  !  but  from 
the  state  of  my  bodily  and  mental  sufferings,  that  scarcely  per- 
mitted human  fortitude  to  let  in  a  new  visitor  of  affliction. 

The  object  of  my  present  reply,  is,  to  state  the  case  just  as  it  is 
— first,  that  for  ten  years  the  anguish  of  my  spirit  has  been  inde- 
scribable, the  sense  of  my  danger  staring,  but  the  consciousness 
of  my  GuiET  worse — far  ^worse  than  all !  I  have  prayed,  with 
drops  of  agony  on  my  brow ;  trembling,  not  only  before  the  jus- 
tice of  my  Maker,  but  even  before  the  mercy  of  my  Redeemer. 
'  I  gave  thee  so  many  talents,  what  hast  thou  done  with  them  ?* 
Secondly,  overwhelmed  as  I  am  with  a  sense  of  my  direful  infir- 
mity, I  have  never  attempted  to  disguise  or  conceal  the  cause. 
On  the  contrary,  not  only  to  friends,  have  I  stated  the  whole 
case  wdth  tears,  and  the  very  bitterness  of  shame  ;  but  in  two  in- 
stances, I  have  warned  young  men,  mere  acquaintances,  who  had 
spoken  of  having  taken  laudanum,  of  the  direful  consequences, 
by  an  awful  exposition  of  its  tremendous  effects  on  myself. 

TJiirdly,  though  before  God  I  cannot  lift  iip  my  eyelids,  and 
only  do  not  despair  of  his  mercy,  because  to  despair  would  be 
adding  crime  to  crime,  yet  to  my  fellows-men  I  may  say,  that  I 
w^as  seduced  into  the  accursed  habit  ignorantly.  I  had  been 
almost  bedridden  for  many  months,  with  swellings  in  my  knees. 
In  a  medical  Journal,  I  unhappily  met  with  an  account  of  a  cure 
performed  in  a  similar  case,  or  what  appeared  to  me  so,  by  rub* 
bing  in  of  laudanum,  at  the  same  time  taking  a  given  dose  inter- 
nally. It  acted  like  a  charm,  like  a  miracle  !  I  recovered  the  use 
of  my  limbs,  of  my  appetite,  of  my  spirits,  and  this  continued  for 
near  a  fortnight.  At  length  the  unusual  stimulus  subsided,  the 
complaint  returned, — the  supposed  remedy  was  recurred  to — but  I 
cannot  go  through  the  dreary  history. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  effects  were  produced  which  acted  on  me 
by  terror  and  cowardice,  of  pain  and  sudden  death,  not  (so  help 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHED.  273 

me  God !)  by  any  temptation  of  pleasure,  or  expectation,  or  de- 
sire of  exciting  pleasurable  sensations.  On  the  very  contrary, 
Mrs.  Morgan  and  her  sister  will  bear  witness  so  far,  as  to  say,  that 
the  longer  I  abstained,  the  higher  my  spirits  were,  the  keener  my 
enjoyments — till  the  moment,  the  direful  moment  arrived,  when  my 
pulse  began  to  fluctuate,  my  heart  to  palpitate,  and  such  falling 
abroad,  as  it  were,  of  my  whole  frame,  such  intolerable  restless- 
ness, and  incipient  bewilderment,  that  in  the  last  of  my  several 
attempts  to  abandon  the  dire  poison,  I  exclaimed  in  agony,  which 
I  now  repeat  in  seriousness  and  solemnity,  '  I  am  too  poor  to  haz- 
ard this.'  Had  I  but  a  few  hundred  pounds,  but  £200, — half  to 
send  to  Mrs.  Coleridge,  and  half  to  place  myself  in  a  private 
madhouse,  where  I  could  procure  nothing  but  what  a  physician 
thought  proper,  and  where  a  medical  attendant  could  be  con- 
stantly with  me  for  two  or  three  months,  (in  less  than  that  time, 
life  or  death  would  be  determined,)  then  there  might  be  hope. 
Now  there  is  none  !  !  0  God  !  how  willingly  would  I  place  my- 
self under  Dr.  Fox,  in  his  establishment ;  for  my  case  is  a  species 
of  madness,  only  that  it  is  a  derangement,  an  utter  impotence  of 
the  volition,  and  not  of  the  intellectual  faculties.  You  bid  me 
rouse  myself:  go  bid  a  man  paralytic  in  both  arms,  to  rub  them 
briskly  together,  and  that  will  cure  him.  '  Alas  !'  he  would  reply, 
'that  I  cannot  move  my  arms,  is  my  complaint  and  my  misery.' 
May  God  bless  you,  and 

Your  affectionate,  but  most  afflicted, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

On  receiving  this  full  and  mournful  disclosure,  I  felt  the  deepest 
compassion  for  Mr.  C.'s  state,  and  sent  him  the  following  letter. 
(Necessary  to  be  given,  to  understand  Mr.  Coleridge's  reply.) 

'^  Dear  Coleridge, 

I  am  afflicted  to  perceive  that  Satan  is  so  busy  with  you,  but 
God  is  greater  than  Satan.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Jesus  Christ  ? 
That  he  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners  ?  He  does  not  de- 
mand, as  a  condition,  any  merit  of  your  own  ;  he  only  says,  '  Come 
and  be  healed  !'  Leave  your  idle  speculations  ;  forget  your  vain 
philosophy.     Come  as  you  are.     Come  and  be  healed.     He  only 

12* 


274  REMINISCENCES'  OF 

requires  you  to  be  sensible  of  your  need  of  him,  to  give  him  your 
heart,  to  abandon  with  penitence,  every  evil  practice,  and  he  has 
promised  that  whosoever  thus  comes,  he  will  in  no  wise  cast  out. 
To  such  as  you  Christ  ought  to  be  precious,  for  you  see  the  hope- 
lessness of  every  other  refuge.  He  will  add  strength  to  your  o',vii 
ineiTectual  efforts. 

For  your  encouragement,  I  express  the  conviction,  that  such 
exercises  as  yours,  are  a  conflict  that  must  ultimately  prove  suc- 
cessful. You  do  not  cloak  your  sins.  You  confess  and  deplore 
them.  I  believe  that  you  will  still  be  as  '  a  brand  plucked  from 
the  burning,'  and  that  you  (with  all  your  wanderings)  will  be  re- 
stored, and  raised  up,  as  a  chosen  instrument,  to  spread  a  Saviour's 
name.  Many  a  '  chief  of  simiers,'  has  been  brought,  since  the  days 
of  '  Saul  of  Tarsus,'  to  sit  as  a  little  child,  at  the  Redeemer's  feet. 
To  this  state  you,  I  am  assured,  will  come.  Pray  !  pray  earnestly, 
and  you  will  be  heard  by  your  Father,  which  is  in  Heaven.  I 
could  say  many  things  of  duty  and  virtue,  but  I  w4sh  to  direct 
your  views  at  once  to  Christ,  in  wtom  is  the  alone  balm  for  afflicted 
souls.     May  God  ever  bless  you, 

Joseph  Cottle. 

P.  S.  If  my  former  letter  appeared  unkind,  pardon  me  !  It  was 
not  intended.  Shall  I  breathe  in  your  ear  ? — I  know  one,  who  is 
a  stranger  to  these  throes  and  conflicts,  and  who  finds  '  Wisdom's 
ways  to  be  w^ays  of  pleasantness,  and  her  paths,  paths  of  peace.'  " 

To  this  letter  I  received  the  following  reply. 

*'  0  dear  friend  !  I  have  too  much  to  be  forgiven,  to  feel  any 
difficulty  in  forgiving  the  cruellest  enemy  that  ever  trampled  on 
me  :  and  you  I  have  only,  to  thank  !  You  have  no  conception  of 
the  dreadful  hell  of  my  mind,  and  conscience,  and  body.  You 
bid  me  pray.  0,  I  do  pray  inwardly  to  be  able  to  pray ;  but  in- 
deed to  pray,  to  pray  with  a  faith  to  which  a  blessing  is  promised, 
this  is  the  reward  of  faith,  this  is  the  gift  of  God  to  the  elect. 
Oh !  if  to  feel  how  infinitely  worthless  I  am,  how  poor  a  wretch, 
with  just  free-will  enough  to  be  deserving  of  wrath,  and  of  my 


'J 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  275 

own  contempt,  and  of  none  to  merit  a  moment^s  peace,  can  make 
a  part  of  a  Christian's  creed ;  so  far  I  am  a  Christian. 

April  26,  1814.  S.  T.  C." 

At  this  time  Mr.  Coleridge  was  indeed  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
His  passion  for  opium  had  so  completely  subdued  his  will,  that 
he  seemed  carried  away,  without  resistance,  by  an  overwhelming 
flood.  The  impression  was  fixed  oif  his  mind,  that  he  should  in- 
evitably die,  unless  he  were  placed  under  constraint,  and  that  con- 
straint he  thought  could  be  alone  effected  in  an  asylum !  Dr. 
Fox,  who  presided  over  an  establishment  of  this  description  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Bristol,  appeared  to  Mr.  C.  the  individual,  to 
whose  subjection  he  w^ould  most  like  to  submit.  This  idea  still 
impressing  his  imagination,  he  addressed  to  me  the  following  letter. 

"  Dear  Cottle, 

I  have  resolved  to  place  myself  in  any  situation,  in  which  I  can 
remain  for  a  month  or  two,  as  a  child,  wholly  in  the  power  of 
others.  But,  alas  !  I  have  no  money  !  Will  you  invite  Mr.  Hood, 
a  most  dear  and  affectionate  friend  to  worthless  me ;  and  Mr.  Le 
Breton,  my  old  school-fellow,  and,  likewise,  a  most  affectionate 
friend  ;  and  Mr.  Wade,  who  will  return  in  a  few  days  ;  desire  them 
to  call  on  you,  any  evening  after  seven  o'clock,  that  they  can  make 
convenient,  and  consult  with  them  whether  anything  of  this  kind 
can  be  done.     Do  you  k^^ow  Dr.  Fox  ?     Affectionately, 

S.  T.  C. 

I  have  to  prepare  my  lecture.     Oh  !  with  how  blank  a  spirit  !"* 

I  did  know  the  late  Dr.  Fox,  who  was  an  opulent  and  liberal- 
minded  man ;  and  if  I  had  applied  to  him,  or  any  friend  had  so 
done,  I  cannot  doubt  but  that  he  would  instantly  have  received 
Mr.  Coleridge  gratuitously ;  but  nothing  could  have  induced  me 
to  make  the  application,  but  that  extreme  case,  which  did  not 
then  appear  fully  to  exist.  My  sympathy  for  Mr.  C.  at  this  time, 
was  so  excited,  that  I  should  have  withheld  no  effort,  within  my 
power,  to  reclaim,  or  to  cheer  him ;  but  this  recurrence  to  an  asy- 
lum I  strenuously  opposed. 

*  Some  supplemental  lecture. 


276  REMINISCENCES  OP 


Mr.  Coleridge  knew  Dr.  Fox  himself,  eighteen  years  before,  and 
to  the  honor  of  Dr.  F.  I  think  it  right  to  name,  that,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, in  the  year  1Y90,  Dr.  Fox,  in  admiration  of  Mr.  C.'s  talents, 
presented  him  with  fifty  pounds  ! 

It  must  here  be  noticed,  that,  fearing  I  might  have  exceeded 
the  point  of  discretion,  in  my  letter  to  Mr.  C,  and  becoming 
alarmed,  lest  I  had  raised  a  spirit  that  I  could  not  lay,  as  well  els 
to  avoid  an  unnecessary  weight  of  responsibility,  I  thought  it  best 
to  consult  Mr.  Southey,  and  ask  him,  in  tliese  harassing  circum- 
stances, what  I  was  to  do ;  especially  as  he  knew  more  of  Mr.  C.'s 
latter  habits  than  myself,  and  had  proved  his  friendship  by  evi- 
dences the  most  substantial. 

The  years  1814  and  1815,  were  the  darkest  periods  in  Mr. 
Coleridge's  life.  However  painful  the  detail,  it  is  presumed  that 
the  reader  would  desire  a  knowledo^e  of  the  undisg^uised  truth. 
This  cannot  be  obtained  without  introducinof  the  follovrinor  letters 
of  Mr.  Southey,  received  from  him,  after  having  sent  him  copies 
of  the  letters  which  passed  between  Mr.  Coleridge  and  myself. 

^•Keswick,  April,  1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

You  may  imagine  with  what  feelings  I  have  read  your  corre- 
spondence with  Coleridge.  Shocking  as  his  letters  are,  perhaps 
the  most  mournful  thing  they  discover  is,  that  while  acknowledging 
the  guilt  of  the  habit,  he  imputes  it  stillito  morbid  bodily  causes, 
whereas  after  every  possible  allowance  is  made  for  these,  every 
person  who  has  witnessed  his  habits,  knows  that  for  the  greater, 
infinitely  the  greater  part,  inclination  and  indulgence  are  its  mo- 
tives. 

It  seems  dreadful  to  say  this,  with  his  expressions  before  mo, 
but  it  is  so,  and  I  know  it  to  be  so,  from  my  own  observation,  and 
that  of  all  with  whom  he  has  lived.  The  Morgans,  with  great 
difficulty  and  perseverance,  did  break  him  of  the  habit,  at  a  time 
when  bis  ordinary  consumption  of  laudanum  was,  from  two  quarts 
a  week,  to  a  pint  a  day  I  He  suffered  dreadfully  during  the  first 
abstinence,  so  much  so,  as  to  say  it  was  better  for  him  to  die  than 
to  endure  his  present  feelings.  Mrs.  Morgan  resolutely  replied,  it 
was  indeed  better  that  he  should  die,  than  that  he  should  continue 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE  AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  277 


to  live  as  he  had  been  hving.  It  angered  him  at  the  time,  but  the 
effort  was  persevered  in. 

To  what  then  was  the  relapse  owing  ?  I  beheve  to  this  cause 
— that  no  use  was  made  of  renewed  health  and  spirits ;  that  time 
passed  on  in  idleness,  till  the  lapse  of  time  brought  with  it  a  sense 
of  neglected  duties,  and  then  relief  was  again  sought  for  a  self- 
accusing  mind ; — in  bodily  feelings,  which  when  the  stimulus 
ceased  to  act,  added  only  to  the  load  of  self-accusation.  This, 
Cottle,  is  an  insanity  which  none  but  the  soul's  physician  can  cure. 
Unquestionably,  restraint  would  do  as  much  for  him  as  it  did  when 
the  Morgans  tried  it,  but  I  do  not  see  the  slightest  reason  for  be- 
heving  it  would  be  more  permanent.  This  too  I  ought  to  say, 
that  all  the  medical  men  to  whom  Coleridge  has  made  his  con- 
fession, have  imiformly  ascribed  the  evil,  not  to  bodily  disease,  but 
indulgence.  The  restraint  which  alone  could  effectually  cure,  is 
that  which  no  person  can  impose  upon  him.  Could  he  be  com- 
pelled to  a  certain  quantity  of  labor  every  day,  for  his  family y 
the  pleasure  of  having  done  it  Avould  make  his  heart  glad,  and 
the  sane  mind  would  make  the  body  whole. 

I  see  nothing  so  advisable  for  him,  as  that  he  should  come 
here  to  Greta  Hall.  My  advice  is,  that  he  should  visit  T.  Poole 
for  two  or  three  weeks,  to  freshen  himself  and  recover  spirits, 
which  new  scenes  never  fail  to  give  him.  When  there,  he  may 
consult  his  friends  at  Birmingham  and  Liverpool,  on  the  fitness 
of  lecturing  at  those  two  places,  at  each  of  which  he  has  friends, 
and  would,  I  should  think  beyond  all  doubt,  be  successful.  He 
must  be  very  unfortunate  if  he  did  not  raise  from  fifty  to  one 
hundred  pounds  at  the  two  places.  But  whether  he  can  do 
this  or  not,  here  it  is  that  he  ought  to  be.  He  knows  in  what 
manner  he  would  be  received  ; — by  his  children  with  joy ;  by  his 
wife,  not  with  tears,  if  she  can  control  them — certainly  not  with 
reproaches  ; — by  myself  only  with  encouragement. 

He  has  sources  of  direct  emolument  open  to  him  in  the  '  Cou- 
rieVy  and  in  the  'Eclectic  Review' — These  for  his  immediate  wants, 
and  for  everything  else,  his  pen  is  more  rapid  than  mine,  and 
would  be  paid  as  well.  If  you  agree  with  me,  you  4iad  better 
write  to  Poole,  that  he  may  press  him  to  make  a  visit,  which  I 
know  he  has  promised.     His  great  object  should  be,  to  get  out  a 


278  REMINISCENCES   OF 

play,  and  appropriate  the  whole  produce  to  the  support  of  his  son 
Hartley,  at  College.  Three  months'  pleasurable  exertion  would 
effect  this.  Of  some  such  fit  of  industry  I  by  no  means  despair ; 
of  anything  more  than  fits,  I  am  afraid  I  do.  But  this  of  course 
I  shall  never  say  to  him.  From  me  he  shall  never  hear  aught 
but  cheerful  encouragement,  and  the  language  of  hope. 

You  ask  me  if  you  did  wrong  in  writing  to  him.  A  man  with 
your  feelings  and  principles  never  does  wrong.  There  are  parts 
which  would  have  been  expunged  had  I  been  at  your  elbow,  but 
in  all,  and  in  everj  part  it  is  strictly  applicable. 

I  hope  your  next  vfill  tell  me  that  he  is  going  to  T.  Poole's — I 
have  communicated  none  of  your  letters  to  Mrs.  Coleridge,  who 
you  know  resides  with  us.  Her  spirits  and  health  are  beginning 
to  sink  under  it.     God 'bless  you. 

Yours  affectionately,  Robert  Southey." 

After  anxious  consideration,  I  thought  the  only  effectual  way 
of  benefiting  Mr.  Coleridge,  would  be,  to  renew  the  object  of  an 
annuity,  by  raising  for  hi  jv,  amongst  his  friends,  one  hundred,  or,  if 
possible,  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year ;  purposing  through 
a  committee  of  three,  to  pay  for  his  comfortable  board,  and  all 
necessaries,  but  not  of  giving  him  the  disposition  of  any  part,  till 
it  was  hoped,  the  correction  of  his  bad  habits,  and  the  establish- 
ment of  his  better  principles,  might  qualify  him  for  receiving  it 
for  his  own  distribution.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  his  sub- 
jection to  opium  could  much  longer  resist  the  stings  of  his  own 
conscience,  and  the  solicitations  of  his  friends,  as  well  as  the  pe- 
cuniary destitution  to  which  his  q;;mm  habits  had  reduced  him. 
The  proposed  object  w^as  named  to  Mr.  C,  who  reluctantly  gave  his 
consent. 

I  now  drew  up  a  letter,  intending  to  send  a  copy  to  all  Mr. 
Coleridge's  old  and  steady  friends,  (several  of  whom  approved  of 
the  design,)  but  before  any  commencement  was  made,  I  transmit- 
ted a  copy  of  my  proposed  letter  to  Mr.  Southey,  to  obtain  his 
sanction.     The  following  is  his  reply. 

^' April  lYth,  1814. 
Dear  Cottle, 

I  have  seldom  in  the  course  of  my  life  felt  it  so  difficult  to  an- 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  279 

swer  a  letter,  as  on  the  present  occasion.  There  is  however  no 
alternative.  I  must  sincerely  express  what  I  think,  and  be  thank- 
ful that  I  am  writing  to  one  w^ho  knows  me  tlioroughly. 

Of  sorrow  and  humiliation  I  will  say  nothing.  Let  me  come  at 
once  to  the  point.  On  what  grounds  can  such  a  subscription  as 
you  propose  raising  for  Coleridge  be  solicited  ?  The  annuity  to 
which  your  intended  letter  refers  (£150)  was  given  him  by  the 
Wedgewoods.  Thomas,  by  his  will,  settled  his  portion  on  Cole- 
ridge, for  his  life.  Josiah  withdrew  his  about  three  years  ago. 
The  half  still  remaining  amounts,  w^hen  the  Income  Tax  is  de- 
ducted, to  £67  10s.  That  sum  Mrs.  C.  receives. at  present,  and 
it  is  all  which  she  receives  for  supporting  herself,  her  daughter, 
and  the  two  boys  at  school : — ^the  boys'  expenses  amounting  to 
the  whole.  No  part  of  Coleridge's  embarrassment  arises  from 
his  wife  and  children, — except  that  he  has  insured  his  life  for  a 
thousand  pounds,  and  pays  the  annual  premium..  He  never  writes 
to  them,  and  never  opens  a  letter  from  them  !^ 

In  truth,  Cottle,  his  embarrassments,  and  his  miseries,  of  body 
and  mind,  all  arise  from  one  accursed  cause — excess  in  ojnum,  of 
which  he  habitually  takes  more  than  was  ever  known  to  be  taken 
by  any  person  before  him.  The  Morgans,  wath  great  effort,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  leave  it  off  for  a  time,  and  he  recovered  in 
consequence  health  and  spirits.  He  has  now  taken  to  it  again. 
Of  this  indeed  I  w^as  too  sure  before  I  heard  from  you — that 
his  looks  bore  testimony  to  it.  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of 
the  costliness  of  this  drug.  In  the  quantity  which  C.  takes,  it 
would  consume  mm  than  the  whole  which  you  propose  to  raise. 
A  frightful  consiS^tion  of  spirits  is  added.  In  this  way  bodily 
ailments  are  produced  ;  and  the  wonder  is  that  he  is  still  alive. 

There  are  but  tw^o  grounds  on  which  a  subscription  of  this 
nature  can  proceed  :  either  when  the  object  is  disabled  from 
exerting  himself ;  or  when  his  exertions  are  unproductive.  Cole- 
ridge is  in  neither  of  these  predicaments.  Proposals  after  propo- 
sals have  been  made  to  him  by  the  booksellers,  and  he  repeatedly 
closed  with  them.     He  is  at  this  moment  as  capable  of  exertion  as 

*  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  his  "  Church  and  State,"  speaks  of  employing  a  drawer 
in  which  were  "  too  many  of  my  unopened  letters/' 


280  REMINISCENCES    OF 


I  am,  and  would  be  paid  as  well  for  whatever  he  might  be  pleased 
to  do.  There  are  two  Reviews, — the  '  Quarterly/  and  the  '  Eclec- 
tic/ in  both  of  which  he  might  have  employment  at  ten  guineas  a 
sheet.  As  to  the  former  I  could  obtain  it  for  him ;  in  the  latter, 
they  are  urgently  desirous  of  his  assistance.  He  promises,  and 
does  nothing. 

I  need  not  pursue  this  subject.  What  more  can  I  say  ?  He 
may  have  new  friends  who  would  subscribe  to  this  plan,  but  they 
cannot  be  many ;  but  among  all  those  who  know  him,  his  habits 
are  known  also. 

Do  you  as  you  think  best.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  Coleridge 
ought  to  come  here,  and  employ  himself,  collecting  money  by  the 
way,  by  lecturing  at  Birmingham  and  Liverpool.  Should  you 
proceed  in  your  intention,  my  name  must  not  be  mentioned.  / 
subscribe  enough.  Here  he  may  employ  himself  without  any  dis- 
quietude about  immediate  subsistence.  Nothing  is  wanting  to 
make  him  easy  in  circumstances,  and  happy  in  himself,  but  to 
leave  off  opium,  and  to  direct  a  certain  portion  of  his  time  to  the 
discharge  of  his  duties.  Four  hours  a  day  would  suffice.  Be- 
lieve me,  my  dear  Cottle,  very  affectionately 

Your  old  Friend, 

Robert  Southey." 

The  succeeding  post  brought  me  the  following  letter. 

"  Keswicl^^ril  18,  1814. 
My  dear  Cottle,  ^^ 

I  ought  to  have  slept  upon  your  letter  before  I  answered  it. 
In  thinking  over  the  subject  (for  you  may  be  assured  it  was  not 
in  my  power  to  get  rid  of  the  thought)  the  exceeding  probability 
occurred  to  me.     *  ^ 

When  you  talked,  in  the  proposed  letter  you  sent  me,  of  Cole- 
ridge producing  valuable  works  if  his  mind  were  relieved  by  the 
certainty  of  a  present  income,  you  suffered  your  feelings  to  over- 
power your  memory.  Coleridge  had  that  income  for  many  years. 
It  was  given  him  expressly  that  he  might  have  leisure  for  lite- 
rary productions ;  and  to  hold  out  the  expectation  that  he  would 


I 

ed    ■ 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  281 

perform  the  same  conditions,  if  a  like  contract  were  renewed,  is 
what  experience  will  not  warrant. 

You  will  probably  waite  to  Poole  on  this  subject.  In  that  case, 
state  to  him  distinctly  what  my  opinion  is  :  that  Coleridge  should 
return  home  to  Keswick,  raising  a  supply  for  his  present  exigen- 
cies, by  lecturing  at  Birmingham,  and  Liverpool,  and  then,  if 
there  be  a  necessity,  as  I  fear  there  will  he  (arising  solely  and 
wholly  from  his  own  most  culpable  habits  of  sloth  and  self-indul- 
gence) of  calling  on  his  friends  to  do  that  which  he  can  and  ought 
to  do, — for  that  time  the  humiliating  solicitation  should  be  re- 
served.        ^         ^         God  bless  you, 

Robert  Southey." 

1^0  advantage  would  arise  from  recording  dialogues  with  Mr. 
Coleridge ;  it  is  sufficient  to  state  that  Mr.  C.'s  repugnance  to  visit 
Greta  Hall,  and  to  apply  his  talents  in  the  way  suggested  by  Mr. 
Southey,  was  invincible  ;  neither  would  he  visit  T.  Poole,  nor  lec- 
ture at  Birmingham  nor  Liverpool. 

Just  at  this  time  I  was  afflicted  with  the  bursting  of  a  blood 
vessel,  occasioned,  probably,  by  present  agitations  of  mind,  which 
reduced  me  to  the  point  of  death  ;  when  the  intercourse  of  friends, 
and  even  speaking,  were  wholly  prohibited. 

During  my  illness,  Mr.  Coleridge  sent  my  sister  the  following 
letter  ;  and  the  succeeding  one  to  myself. 

^^Sth  May,  1814. 
Dear  Madam, 

I  am  uneasy  to  know  how  my  friend,  J.  Cottle,  goes  on.  The 
walk  I  took  last  Monday  to  inquire,  in  person,  proved  too  much 
for  my  strength,  and  shortly  after  my  return,  I  w^as  in  such  a 
swooning  way,  that  I  was  directed  to  go  to  bed,  and  orders  were 
given  that  no  one  should  interrupt  me.  Indeed  I  cannot  be  suffi- 
ciently grateful  for  the  skill  with  which  the  surgeon  treats  me. 
But  it  must  be  a  slow,  and  occasionally,  an  interrupted  progress, 
after  a  sad  retrogress  of  nearly  twelve  years.  To  God  all  things 
are  possible.  I  entreat  your  prayers,  your  brother  has  a  share 
in  mine. 

What  an  astonishing  privifege,  that  i  sinner  should  be  permit- 


282  REMINISCENCES   OF 

ted  to  cry,  '  Our  Father !'  Oh,  still  more  stupendous  mercy,  that 
this  poor  ungrateful  sinner  should  be  exhorted,  invited,  nay,  com- 
manded, to  pray — ^to  pray  importunately.  That  which  great  men 
most  detest,  namely,  importunacy ;  to  this  the  Giver  and  the 
FoRGivER  ENCOURAGES  li'is  sick  petitioners ! 

I  will  not  trouble  you  except  for  one  verbal  answer  to  this  note. 
How  is  your  brother  ? 

With  affectionate  respects  to  yourself  and  your  sister, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

To  Miss  Cottle,  Brunswick  Square." 

'^Friday,  27th  May,  1814. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Gladness  be  with  you,  for  your  convalescence,  and  equally  so, 
at  the  hope  which  has  sustained  and  tranquillized  you  through 
your  imminent  peril.  Far  otherwise  is,  and  hath  been,  my  state ; 
yet  I  too  am  grateful ;  yet  I  cannot  rejoice.  I  feel,  with  an  inten- 
sity, unfathomable  by  vfords,  my  utter  nothingness,  impotence, 
and  worthlessness,  in  and  for  myself.  I  have  learned  what  a 
sin  is  against  an  infinite  imperishable  being,  such  as  is  the  soul 
of  man. 

I  have  had  more  than  a  giimpse  of  v.^hat  is  meant  by  death  and 
outer  darkness,  and  the  worm  that  dieth  not — and  that  all  the  hell 
of  the  reprobate,  is  no  more  inconsistent  with  the  love  of  God, 
than  the  blindness  of  one  who  has  occasioned  loathsome  and  guilty 
diseases  to  eat  out  his  eyes,  is  inconsistent  with  the  light  of  the 
sun.  But  the  consolations,  at  least,  tlie  sensible  sweetness  of 
hope,  I  do  not  possess.  On  the  contrary,  the  temptation  which  I 
have  constantly  to  fight  up  against,  is  a  fear,  that  if  annihilation 
and  the  possibility  of  heaven,  were  offered  to  my  choice,  I  should 
choose  the  former. 

This  is,  perhaps,  in  part,  a  constitutional  idiosyncracy,  for  when 
a  mere  boy,  I  wrote  these  lines : 

Oh,  what  a  wonder  seems  the  fear  of  death. 

Seeing  how  gladly  we  all  sink  to  sleep ; 

Babes,  children,  youths  and  men, 

Night  following  night,  for  three-score  years  and  ten.* 

*  These  four  lines  in  the  edition  of  Mr.  C.'s  Poems,  published  ^fter  his 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  283 

And  in  my  early  manhood,  in  lines  descriptive  of  a  gloomy 
Bolitude,  I  disguised  my  own  sensations  in  the  following  words : 

'  Here  wisdom  might  abide,  and  here  remorse ! 
Here  too,  the  woe-worn  man,  who  weak  in  soul, 
And  of  this  busy  human  heart  aweary, 
Worships  the  spirit  of  unconscious  life, 
In  tree,  or  wild-flower.     Gentle  lunatic  ! 
If  so  he  might  not  wholly  cease  to  be, 
He  would  far  rather  not  be  that  he  is ; 
But  would  be  something  that  he  knows  not  of, 
In  woods,  or  waters,  or  among  the  rocks.' 

My  main  comfort,  therefore,  consists  in  what  the  divines  call 
the  faith  of  adherence,  and  no  spiritual  effort  appears  to  benefit 
me  so  much  as  the  one  earnest,  importunate,  and  often,  for  hours, 
momently  repeated  prayer:  'I  believe.  Lord  help  my  unbelief ! 
Give  me  faith,  but  as  a  mustard  seed,  and  I  shall  remove  this 
mountain  !  Faith,  faith,  faith  !  I  believe,  0  give  me  faith  !  O, 
for  my  Redeemer's  sake,  give  me  faith  in  my  Redeemer.' 

In  all  this  I  justify  God,  for  I  w^as  accustomed  to  oppose  the 
preaching  of,  the  terrors  of  the  gospel,  and  to  represent  it  as  de- 
basing virtue,  by  the  admixture  of  slaving  selfishness. 

I  now  see  that  what  is  spiritual,  can  only  be  spiritually  appre- 
hended.    Comprehended  it  cannot. 

Mr.  Eden  gave  you  a  too  flattering  account  of  me.  It  is  true, 
I  am  restored,  as  much  beyond  my  expectations  almost,  as  my 
deserts ;  but  I  am  exceedingly  weak.  I  need  for  myself,  solace 
and  refocillation  of  animal  spirits,  instead  of  being  in  a  condition 
of  offering  it  to  others.  Yet,  as  soon  as  I  may  see  you,  I  will 
call  on  you. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

P.  S.  It  is  no  small  gratification  to  me,  that  I  have  seen  and 
conversed   with  Mrs.   Hannah  More.     She  is,  indisputably,  the 

death,  are  oddly  enough  thrown  into  the  "  Monody  on  Chatterton,"  and  form 
the  four  opening  lines.  Many  readers  may  concur  with  myself  in  thinking, 
that  the  former  commencement  was  preferable ;  namely, — • 

•'When  faint  and  sad,  o'er  sorrow's  desert  wild, 
Slow  journeys  onward  poor  misfortune's  child ;"  &c. 


284  REMINISCENCES   OF 


1 


first  literary  female  I  ever  met  with.     In  part,  no  doubt,  because 
she  is  a  christian.     Make  my  best  respects  when  you  WTite." 

The  serious  expenditure  of  money,  resulting  from  Mr.  C.'s  con- 
sumption of  opium,  was  the  least  evil,  though  very  great,  and 
which  must  have  absorbed  all  the  produce  of  Mr.  C.'s  lectures, 
and  all  the  liberalities  of  his  friends.  It  is  painful  to  record  such 
circumstances  as  the  following,  but  the  picture  would  be  incom- 
plete without  it. 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  a  late  letter,  with  something  it  is  feared,  if  not 
of  duplicity,  of  self-deception,  extols  the  skill  of  his  surgeon,  in  hav- 
ing gradually  lessened  his  consumption  of  laudanum,  it  was  under- 
stood, to  twenty  drops  a  day.  With  this  diminution,  the  habit 
was  considered  as  subdued,  and  at  which  result,  no  one  appeared 
to  rejoice  more  than  Mr.  Coleridge  himself.  The  reader  will  be 
surprised  to  learn,  that,  notw^ithstanding  this  flattering  exterior, 
Mr.  C.  Avhile  apparently  submitting  to  the  directions  of  his  medi- 
cal adviser,  was  secretly  indulging  in  his  usual  overwhelming 
quantities  of  opium  !  Heedless  of  his  health,  and  every  honor- 
able consideration,  he  contrived  to  obtain  surreptitiously,  the  fatal 
drug,  and  thus  to  baffle  the  hopes  of  his  warmest  friends. 

Mr.  Coleridge  had  resided,  at  this  time,  for  several  months, 
with  his  kind  friend,  Mr.  Josiah  Wade,  of  Bristol,  who,  in  his  so- 
licitude for  his  benefit,  had  procured  for  him,  so  long  as  it  was 
deemed  necessary,  the  professional  assistance,  stated  above.  The 
surgeon  on  taking  leave,  after  the  cure  had  been  effected,  well 
knowing  the  expedients  to  which  opium  patients  would  often  re- 
cur, to  obtain  their  proscribed  draughts  ;  at  least,  till  the  habit  of 
temperance  was  fully  established,  cautioned  Mr.  W.  to  prevent 
Mr.  Coleridge,  by  all  possible  means,  from  obtaining  that  by 
stealth,  from  which  he  was  openly  debarred.  It  reflects  great 
credit  on  Mr.  Wade's  humanity,  that  to  prevent  all  access  to 
opium,  and  thus,  if  possible,  to  rescue  his  friend  from  destruc- 
tion, he  engaged  a  respectable  old  decayed  tradesman,  constantly 
to  attend  Mr.  C.  and,  to  make  that  which  was  sure,  doubly  cer- 
tain, placed  him  even  in  his  bed-room  ;  and  this  man  always  ac- 
companied him  whenever  he  went  out.  To  such  surveillance  Mr. 
Coleridge  cheerfully  acceded,  in  order  to  show  the  promptitude 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  285 

with  which  he  seconded  the  efforts  of  his  friends.  It  has  been 
stated  that  every  precaution  was  unavaiUng.  By  some  unknown 
means  and  dexterous  contrivances,  Mr.  C.  afterward  confessed 
that  he  still  obtained  his  usual  lulling  potions. 

As  an  example,  amongst  others  of  a  similar  nature,  one  inge- 
nious expedient,  to  which  he  resorted,  to  cheat  the  doctor,  he 
thus  disclosed  to  Mr.  Wade,  from  whom  I  received  it.  He  said, 
in  passing  along  the  quay,  where  the  ships  were  moored,  he 
noticed,  by  a  side  glance,  a  druggist's  shop,  probably  an  old  re- 
sort, and  standing  near  the  door,  he  looked  toward  the  ships,  and 
pointing  to  one  at  some  distance,  he  said  to  his  attendant,  "  I 
think  that's  an  American."  ''  Oh,  no,  that  I  am  sure  it  is  not," 
said  the  man.  "I  think  it  is,"  replied  Mr.  C.  "I  wish  you 
would  step  over  and  ask,  and  bring  me  the  particulars."  The 
man  accordingly  went ;  when  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
Mr.  C.  stepped  into  the  shop,  had  his  portly  bottle  filled  with 
laudanum,  which  he  always  carried  in  his  pocket,  and  then  expe- 
ditiously placed  himself  in  the  spot  where  he  was  left.  The  man 
now  returned  with  the  particulars,  beginning,  "  I  told  you,  sir,  it 
was  not  an  American,  but  I  have  learned  all  about  her."  "  As  I 
am  mistaken,  never  mind  the  rest,"  said  Mr.  C,  and  walked  on."* 

Every  bad  course  of  conduct  (happily  for  the  good  of  social* 
order)  leads  to  perplexing,  and  generally  to  disastrous  results. 
The  reader  w^ill  soon  have  a  practical  illustration,  that  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge was  not  exempt  from  the  general  law. 

A  common  impression  prevailed  on  the  minds  of  his  friends, 
that  it  was  a  desperate  case  that  paralyzed  all  their  efforts  :  that 
to  assist  Mr.  C.  with  money,  which,  under  favorable  circumstances, 
would  have  been  most  promptly  advanced,  would  now  only  en- 
large his  capacity  to  obtain  the  opium  which  was  consuming  him. 
We  at  length  learnt  that  Mr.  Coleridge  was  gone  to  reside  with 
his  friend  Mr.  John  Morgan,  in  a  small  house,  at  Calne,  in  Wilt- 
shire. So  gloomy  were  our  apprehensions,  that  even  the  death 
of  Mr.  C.  was  mournfully  expected  at  no  distant  period !  for  his 

*  This  man  must  have  been  just  the  kind  of  vigilant  superintendent  Mr.  C. 
desired;  ready  to  fetch  a  book,  or  a  box  of  snuff,  &c.,  at  command.  The 
preceding  occurrence  vvrould  not  have  been  introduced,  but  to  illustrate  the 
supreme  ascendency  which  cTpium  exercises  over  its  unhappy  votaries. 


286  REMINISCENCES    OF 

actions  at  this  time,  were,  we  feared,  all  indirectly  of  a  suicidal 
description. 

In  a  letter  from  Mr.  Southey,  dated  October  27,  1814,  he  thus 
writes : — 

''  My  dear  Cottle, 

It  is  not  long  since  I  heard  of  you  from  Mr.  De  Quincey :  but 
I  wish  you  would  sometimes  let  me  hear  from  you.  There  was  a 
time  when  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  my  seeing  you,  and  in 
all  that  time,  I  do  not  remember  that  there  was  a  passing  cloud 
of  coolness  between  us.  The  feeling,  I  am  sure,  continues  :  do  not 
then  let  us  be  so  entirely  separated  by  distance,  which  in  cases  of 
correspondence  may  almost  be  considered  as  a  mere  abstraction. 

^  %  *  ^  vr  ^  ^* 

Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  Coleridge  ?  We  know  that  he  is 
with  the  Morgans  at  Calne.  What  is  to  become  of  him  ?  He 
may  find  men  who  will  give  him  board  and  lodging  for  the  sake 
of  his  conversation,  but  who  will  pay  his  other  expenses  ?  He 
leaves  his  family  to  chance,  and  charity.  With  good  feelings, 
good  principles,  as  far  as  the  understanding  is  concerned,  and  an 
intellect  as  clear,  and  as  powerful  as  was  ever  vouchsafed  to  man, 
he  is  the  slave  of  degrading  sensuality,  and  sacrifices  everything 
to  it.     The  case  is  equally  deplorable  and  monstrous. 

Beheve  me,  my  dear  Cottle, 

Ever  your  affectionate  old  friend, 

Robert  Southey." 

Of  Mr.  Coleridge  I  now  heard  nothing,  but  in  common  with  all 
his  friends,  felt  deep  solicitude  concerning  his  future  course; 
when,  in  March,  1815,  I  received  from  him  the  following  letter : — 

"Calne,  March  T,  1815. 
Dear  Cottle, 

You  will  wish  to  know  something  of  myself.  In  health,  I  am 
not  worse  than  when  at  Bristol  I  was  best ;  yet  fluctuating,  yet 
unhappy  !  in  circumstances  *  poor  indeed  !'  I  have  collected  my 
scattered,  and  my  manuscript  poems,  sufficient  to  make  one  vol- 
ume. Enough  I  have  to  make  another.  But  till  the  latter  is  fin- 
ished, I  cannot  without  great  loss  of  character,  publish  the  former 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  287 

on  account  of  the  arrangement,  besides  the  necessity  of  correction. 
For  instance,  I  earnestly  wish  to  begin  the  volumes,  with  what 
has  never  been  seen  by  any,  however  few,  such  as  a  series  of  Odes 
on  the  different  sentences  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  more  than  all 
this,  to  finish  my  greater  work  on  '  Christianity,  considered  as 
Philosophy,  and  as  the  only  Philosophy.'  All  the  materials  I 
have  in  no  small  part,  reduced  to  form,  and  written,  but,  oh  me ! 
what  can  I  do,  when  I  am  so  poor,  that  in  having  to  turn  off  every 
week,  from  these  to  some  mean  subject  for  the  newspapers,  I  dis- 
tress myself,  and  at  last  neglect  the  greater,  wholly  to  do  little 
of  the  less.  If  it  were  in  your  power  to  receive  my  manuscripts, 
(for  instance,  what  I  have  ready  for  the  press  of  my  poems,)  and 
by  setting  me  forward  with  thirty  or  forty  pounds,  taking  care 
that  what  I  send,  and  would  make  over  to  you,  would  more  than 
secure  you  from  loss,  I  am  sure  you  would  do  it.  And  I  would 
die  (after  my  recent  experience  of  the  cruel  and  insolent  spirit  of 
calumny)  rather  than  subject  myself,  as  a  slave,  to  a  club  of  sub- 
scribers to  my  poverty. 

If  I  were  to  say  I  am  easy  in  my  conscience,  I  should  add  to 
its  pains  by  a  lie ;  but  tliis  I  can  truly  say,  that  my  embarrass- 
ments have  not  been  occasioned  by  the  bad  parts,  or  selfish  in- 
dulgences of  my  nature.  I  am  at  present  five  and  twenty  pounds 
in  arrear,  my  expenses  being  at  £2  10s.  per  week.  You  will  say 
I  ought  to  live  for  less,  and  doubtless  I  might,  if  I  were  to  alienate 
myself  from  all  social  affections,  and  from  all  conversation  with 
persons  of  the  same  education.  Those  who  severely  blame  me, 
never  ask,  vfhether  at  any  time  in  my  life,  I  had  for  myself  and 
my  family's  wants,  £50  beforehand. 

Heaven  knows  of  the  £300  received,  through  you,  what  went 
to  myself.^  No !  bowed  down  under  manifold  infirmities,  I  yet 
dare  to  appeal  to  God  for  the  truth  of  what  I  say ;  I  have  remained 
poor  by  always  having  been  poor,  and  incapable  of  pursuing  any 
one  great  work,  for  want  of  a  competence  beforehand. 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

*  This  statement  requires  an  explanation,  which  none  now  can  give.  Was 
the  far  larger  proportion  of  this  £300  appropriated  to  the  discharge  of  Opium 
debts'?  This  does  not  seem  unlikely,  as  Mr.  C.  lived  with  friends,  and  he 
could  contract  few  other  debts. 


288  REMINISCENCES   OP 


This  was  precisely  the  termination  I  was  prepared  to  expect. 
I  had  never  before,  through  my  whole  life  refused  Mr.  C.  an  ap- 
plication for  money;  yet  I  now  hesitated;  assured  that  the  sum 
required,  was  not  meant  for  the  discharge  of  board,  (for  which  he 
paid  nothing,)  but  for  the  purchase  of  opium,  the  expense  of  which, 
for  years,  had  amounted  nearly  to  the  two  pounds  ten  shillings 
per  week.  Under  this  conviction,  and  after  a  painful  conflict,  I 
sent  Mr.  C.  on  the  next  day,  a  friendly  letter,  declining  his  re- 
quest in  the  kindest  manner  I  could,  but  inclosing  a  five  pound 
note.  It  happened  that  my  letter  to  Mr.  Coleridge  passed  on  the 
road,  another  letter  from  him  to  myself,  far  more  harrowing  than 
the  first.     This  was  the  last  letter  I  ever  received  from  Mr.  C. 

The  following  is  Mr.  Coleridge's  second  letter. 

*^Calne,  Wiltshire,  March  10,  1815. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  been  waiting  with  the  greatest  uneasiness  for  a  letter 
from  you.  My  distresses  are  impatient  rather  than  myself  :  inas- 
much as  for  the  last  five  weeks,  I  know^  myself  to  be  a  burden  on 
those  to  w^hom  I  am  under  great  obligations  :  w^ho  would  gladly 
do  all  for  me  ;  hut  ivho  have  done  all  they  can  I  Irfcapable  of  any 
exertion  in  this  state  of  mind,  I  have  now  wTitten  to  Mr.  Hood, 
and  have  at  length  bowled  my  heart  down,  to  beg  that  four  or  five 
of  those,  who  I  had  reason  to  believe,  w^ere  interested  in  my  wel- 
fare, would  raise  the  sum  I  mentioned,  between  them,  should  you 
not  find  it  convenient  to  do  it.  Manuscript  poems,  equal  to  one 
volume  of  230  to  300  pages,  being  sent  to  them  immediately. 
If  not,  I  must  instantly  dispose  of  all  my  poems,  fragments  and 
all,  for  whatever  I  can  get  from  the  first  rapacious  bookseller, 
that  will  give  anything — and  then  try  to  get  my  livelihood  where 
I  am,  by  receiving,  or  waiting  on  day-pupils,  children  or  adults, 
but  even  this  I  am  unable  to  wait  for  without  some  assistance : 
for  I  cannot  but  with  consummate  baseness,  throw  the  expenses 
of  my  lodging  and  boarding  for  the  last  five  or  six  weeks  on  those 
who  must  injure  and  embarrass  themselves  in  order  to  pay  them. 
The  *  Friend '  has  been  long  out  of  print,  and  its  re-publication 
has  been  called  for  by  numbers. 

Indeed  from  the  manner  in  which  it  was  first  circulated,  it  is 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  289 


little  less  than  a  new  work.  To  make  it  a  complete  and  circular 
work,  it  needs  but  about  eight  or  ten  papers.  This  I  could  and 
would  make  over  to  you  at  once  in  full  copy-right,  and  finish  it 
outright,  with  no  other  delay  than  that  of  finishing  a  short  and 
temperate  Treatise  on  the  Corn  Laws,  and  their  national  and  moral 
effects  ;  which  had  I  even  twenty  pounds  only  to  procure  myself 
a  week's  ease  of  mind,  I  could  have  printed  before  the  bill  had 
passed  the  Lords.  At  all  events  let  me  hear  by  return  of  post. 
I  am  confident  that  whether  you  take  the  property  of  my  Poems, 
or  of  my  Prose  Essays,  in  pledge,  you  cannot  eventually  lose  the 
money. 

As  soon  as  I  can,  I  shall  leave  Calne  for  Bristol,  and  if  I  can 
procure  any  day  pupils,  shall  immediately  take  cheap  lodgings 
near  you.  My  plan  is  to  have  tAventy  pupils,  ten  youths  or 
adults,  and  ten  boys.  To  give  the  latter  three  hours  daily,  from 
eleven  o'clock  to  two,  with  ey eption  of  the  usual  school  vacations, 
in  the  Elements  of  English,  Greek,  and  Latin,  presenting  them 
exercises  for  their  employment  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  two 
hours  every  evening  to  the  adults  (that  is  from  sixteen  and  older) 
on  a  systematic  plan  of  general  knowledge ;  and  I  should  hope 
that  £15  a  year,  v>'ould  not  be  too  much  to  ask  from  each,  which 
excluding  Sundays  and  two  vacations,  would  be  httle  more  than 
a  shilling  a  day,  or  six  shillings  a  week,  for  forty-two  weeks. 

To  this  I  am  certain  I  could  attend  with  strictest  regularity,  or 
indeed  to  anything  mechanical. 

But  composition  is  no  voluntary  business.  The  very  necessity 
of  doing  it  robs  me  of  the  power  of  doing  it.  Had  I  been  pos- 
sessed of  a  tolerable  competency,  I  should  have  been  a  voluminous 
writer.  But  I  cannot,  as  is  feigned  of  the  Nightingale,  sing  with 
my  breast  against  a  thorn.     God  bless  you, 

Saturday,  Midnight.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

The  receipt  of  this  letter  filled  me  with  the  most  poignant  grief; 
much  for  the  difficulties  to  which  Mr.  C.  was  reduced,  but  still 
tnore  for  the  cause.  In  one  letter,  indignantly  spurning  the  con- 
tributions of  his  "club  of  subscribers  to  his  poverty;"  and  m 
his  next  (three  days  afterwards)  earnestly  soliciting  this  assistance  ; 
The  victorious  bearer  away  of  University  prizes,  now  bent  down 

13 


290  REMINISCENCES   OF 

to  the  humiliating  desire  of  keeping  a  day  school,  for  a  morsel  of 
bread !  The  man  whose  genius  has  scarcely  been  surpassed,  pro- 
posing to  *'  attend"  scholars,  "  children  or  adults,"  and  to  bolster 
up  his  head,  at  night  in  "  cheap  lodgings  !"  Oppressed  with  debt, 
contracted  by  expending  that  money  on  opium,  which  should 
have  been  paid  to  his  impoverished  friend  ;  and  this,  at  a  moment, 
when,  for  the  preceding  dozen  years,  if  he  had  called  his  mighty 
intellect  into  exercise,  the  "world"  Vvould  have  been  "all  before 
him,  where  to  choose  his  place  of  rest."  But  at  this  time  he 
preferred,  to  all  things  else,  the  Circean  chalice  ! 

These  remarks  have  reluctantly  been  forced  from  me ;  and 
never  would  they  have  passed  the  sanctuary  of  m.y  own  breast, 
but  to  call  on  every  consumer  of  the  narcotic  poison,  who  fancies, 
perchance,  that  in  the  taking  of  opium  there  is  pleasure  only 
and  no  pain,  to  behold  in  this  memorable  example,  the  inevitable 
consjequences  which  follow  that  "  accursed  practice  !"  Property 
consumed  !  health  destroyed  !  independence  bartered  ;  respecta- 
bility undermined ;  family  concord  subverted  !  that  peace  sacrificed, 
which  forms  so  primary  an  ingredient  in  man's  cup  of  happiness !  i 
— a  deadly  war  with  conscience !  and  the  very  mind  of  the  un-  | 
happy  votary,  (  whilst  the  ethereal  spirit  of  natural  affection  gene- 
rally escapes  !)  despoiled  of  its  best  energies. 

I  venture  the  more  readily  on  these  reflections,  from  the  hope 
of  impressing  some  young  delinquents,  who  are  beginning  to  sip 
the  "  deadly  poison ;"  little  aware  that  no  habit  is  so  progressive, 
and  that  he  who  begins  with  the  little,  will  rapidly  pass  on  to  the 
much  !  I  am  also  additionally  urged  to  these  mournful  disclos- 
ures, from  their  forming  one  portion  only,  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  life. 
It  has  been  my  unenviable  lot,  to  exhibit  my  friend  in  his  lowest 
points  of  depression  ;  conflicting  vrith  unhallowed  practices,  and, 
as  the  certain  consequence,  with  an  accusing  conscience. 

Most  rejoiced  should  I  have  been,  had  my  opportunities  and 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Coleridge  continued,  to  have  traced  the 
gradual  development  into  action,  of  those  better  principles  which 
were  inherent  in  his  mind.  This  privilege  is  reserved  for  a  mor§ 
favored  biographer ;  and  it  now  remains  only  for  me,  in  a  closing 
remark,  to  state,  that,  had  I  been  satisfied  that  the  money  Mr.  C. 
required,  would  have  been  expended  in  lawful  purposes,  I  would 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  291 

have  supplied  him,  (without  being  an  affluent  man,)  to  the  utmost 
of  his  requirements,  and  not  by  dividing  the  honor  with  others, 
or  receiving  his  writings  in  pledge  !  But,  knowing  that  whatever 
moneys  he  received  would  assuredly  be  expended  in  opium,  com- 
passion   STAYED   MY   HAND. 

In  my  reply  to  liis  second  letter,  by  **  return  of  post,"  I  inclosed 
Mr.  C.  another  five  pounds  :  urged  him  in  a  kind  letter,  to  come 
immediately  to  Bristol,  where  myself  and  others  would  do  all 
that  could  be  done,  to  advise  and  assist  him.  I  told  him  at  the 
same  time,  that,  when  I  declined  the  business  of  a  bookseller,  I 
forever  quitted  publishing,  so  that  I  could  not  receive  his  MSS. 
valuable  as  they  doubtless  were  ;  but  I  reminded  him,  tJiat  as  his 
merits  were  noiv  appreciated  by  the  public,  the  London  booksel- 
lers would  reiidily  enter  into  a  treaty,  and  remunerate  him  liber- 
ally. Mr.  Coleridge  returned  no  answer  to  my  letter ;  came  not 
to  Bristol,  but  went  in  the  next  spring  to  London,  as  I  learned 
indirectly  ;  and  I  now  await  a  narrative  of  the  latter  period  of  Mr. 
C.'s  life,  and  particularly  the  perusal  of  his  "  posthumous  Avorks," 
with  a  solicitude  surpassed  by  none. 

I  mentioned  before  that  from  my  intimate  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Coleridge's  sentiments  and  character,  no  doubt  could  be  enter- 
tained by  me,  of  its*  being  Mr.  C.'s  earnest  wish,  in  order  to  ex- 
hibit to  his  successors  the  pernicious  consequences  of  opium,  that, 
when  called  from  this  world,  the  fullest  publicity  should  be  given 
to  its  disastrous  effects  on  himself.  But  whatever  confidence 
existed  in  my  own  mind,  it  might  be,  I  well  knew,  no  easy  task,  to 
inspire,  with  the  same  assurance,  some  of  his  surviving  friends  ; 
so  that  I  have  been  compelled  to  argue  the  point,  and  to  show,  to 
those  who  shrunk  from  such  disclosures,  that  Mr.  Coleridge's  ex- 
ample was  intimately  combined  with  general  utility,  and  that  none 
ought  to  regret  a  faithful  narration  of  (unquestionably)  the  great 
bane  of  his  life,  since  it  presented  a  conspicuous  example,  which 
might  arrest  the  attention,  and  operate  as  a  warning  to  many 
others. 

From  a  conviction  of  the  tender  ground  on  which  I  stood,  and 
entertaining  a  latent  suspicion  that  some,  whom  I  could  wish  to 
have  pleased,  would  still  censure,  as  unjustifiable  exposure,  what 
with  me  was  the  result  of  conscience  ;  I  repeat,  with  all  these 


292  REMINISCENCES   OF 

searching  apprehensions,  the  reader  will  judge  what  my  compli- 
cated feelings  must  have  been,  of  joy  and  sorrow  ;  a  momentary 
satisfaction,  succeeded  by  the  deepest  pungency  of  affliction, 
when,  (after  all  the  preceding  was  written,)  Mr.  Josiah  Wade,  pre- 
sented to  me  the  following  mournful  and  touching  letter  addressed 
to  him  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  year  1814,  which,  whilst  it 
relieved  my  mind  from  so  onerous  a  burden,  fully  corroborated 
all  that  I  had  presumed,  and  all  that  I  had  affirmed.  Mr.  W. 
handed  this  letter  to  me,  that  it  might  be  made  public,  in  con- 
formity with  his  departed  friend's  injunction. 

'^Bristol,  June  26th,   1814. 
Dear  Sir, 

For  I  am  unworthy  to  call  any  good  man  friend — much  less 
you,  whose  hospitality  and  love  I  have  abused ;  accept,  however, 
my  entreaties  for  your  forgiveness,  and  for  your  prayers. 

Conceive  a  poor  miserable  wretch,  who  for  many  years  has 
been  attempting  to  beat  off  pain  by  a  constant  recurrence  to  the 
vice  that  reproduces  it.  Conceive  a  spirit  i%  hell,  employed  in 
tracing  out  for  others  the  road  to  that  heaven,  from  which  his 
crimes  exclude  him !  In  short,  conceive  whatever  is  most 
wretched,  helpless,  and  hopeless,  and  you  will  form  as  tolerable  a 
notion  of  my  state,  as  it  is  possible  for  a  good  man  to  have. 

I  used  to  think  the  text  in  St.  James  that  '  he  who  offended  in 
one  point,  offends  in  all,'  very  harsh  :  but  I  now  feel  the  awful, 
the  tremendous  truth  of  it.  In  the  one  crime  of  opium,  what 
crime  have  I  not  made  myself  guilty  of ! — Ingratitude  to  ray 
Maker  !  and  to  my  benefactors — injustice  !  and  unnatural  cruelUj 
to  my  poor  children  ! — self-contempt  for  nay  repeated  promise — 
breach,  nay,  too  often,  actual  falsehood  I 

After  my  death,  I  earnestly  entreat  that  a  foil  and  unqualified 
narration  of  my  wretchedness,  and  of  its  guilty  cause,  may  be 
made  public,  that  at  least,  some  little  good  may  be  effected  by 
the  direful  example. 

May  God  Almight}"  bless  you,  and  have  mercy  on  your  still 
affectionate,  and  in  his  heart,  grateful — 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  293 

This  is  indeed  a  redeeming  letter.  We  here  behold  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge in  the  lowest  state  of  human  depression,  but  his  condition 
is  not  hopeless.  It  is  not  the  insensibility  of  final  impenitence ; 
it  is  not  the  slumber  of  the  grave.  A  gleam  of  sunshine  bursts 
through  the  almost  impenetrable  gloom  ;  and  the  virtue  of  that 
prayer,  "  May  God  Almighty  have  mercy !"  in  a  penitent  heart, 
like  his,  combined  as  we  know  it  was,  with  the  recognition  of 
Him,  who  is  "  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life,"  authorizes  the 
belief  that  a  spirit  thus  exercised,  had  joys  in  reserve,  and  was  to 
become  the  recipient  of  the  best  influences  that  can  illumine 
regenerate  man. 

•  No  individual  ever  effected  great  good  in  the  moral  world,  who 
had  not  been  subjected  to  a  long  preliminary  discipline ;  and  He 
who  knows  what  is  in  man  ;  who  often  educes  good  from  evil,  can 
best  apportion  the  exact  kind  and  degree,  indispensable  to  each 
separate  heart.  Mr.  Coleridge,  after  this  time  lived  twenty  years. 
A  merciful  Providence,  though  with  many  mementoes  of  decay, 
preserved  his  body,  and  in  all  its  vigor  sustained  his  mind.  Power 
was  given  him,  it  is  presumed,  and  fervently  hoped  to  subdue  his 
former  pernicious  practices.  The  season  of  solemn  reflection  it  is 
hoped  arrived,  that  his  ten  talents  were  no  longer  partially  buried, 
but  that  the  lengthened  space  extended  to  him,  was  consecrated 
by  deep  reflection,  and  consequent  qualification,  to  elucidate  and 
establish  the  everlasting  principles  of  christian  truth. 

Under  such  advantages,  we  are  authorized  in  forming  the  high- 
est expectations  from  his  Great  Posthumous  Work.  Nothing 
which  I  have  narrated  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  wdll  in  tlie  least  subtract 
from  the  merit,  or  the  impression  of  that  production,  effected  in 
his  mature  manhood,  when  his  renovated  faculties  sent  forth  new 
coruscations,  and  concentrated  the  results  of  all  his  profound 
meditations.  The  very  process  to  which  he  had  been  exposed, 
so  unpropitious  as  it  appeared,  may  have  been  the  most  favorable 
for  giving  consistency  to  his  intellectual  researches.  He  may  have 
thought  in  channels  the  more  refined,  varied  and  luminous,  from 
the  ample  experience  he  had  acquired,  that  the  only  real  evil  in 
this  world,  was  the  frown  of  the  Almighty,  and  his  favor  the  only 
real  good  ;  so  that  the  grand  work,   about  to  appear,  may  add 


294  REMINISCENCES   OF 


pedi-  ■ 


strength  to  the  strong,  and  give  endurance  to  the  finished  pedi- 
ment of  his  iisefvihiess  and  his  fame. 

But  although  all  these  cheering  anticipations  should  be  fully  real- 
ized, regrets  will  still  exist.  It  will  ever  be  deplored,  that  Mr- 
Coleridge's  system  of  Christian  Ethics,  had  not  yet  been  delib- 
erately recorded  by  himself.  This  feeling,  however  natural,  is 
still  considerably  moderated,  by  reflecting  on  the  ample  competence 
of  the  individual  on  whom  the  distinction  of  preparing  this  sys- 
tem has  devolved ;  a  security  that  it  will  be  both  well  and  faith- 
fully executed,  and  which,  in  the  same  proportion  that  it  reflects 
credit  on  the  editor,  will  embalm  with  additional  honors  the 
memory  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ;  a  genius,  Avho  in  the* 
opulence  of  his  imagination,  and  his  rich  and  inexhaustible  capa- 
bilities, as  a  poet,  a  logician,  and  a  metaphysician,  has  not  per- 
haps been  surpassed  since  the  days  of  Milton. 

The  following  letter  of  Mr.  Coleridge,  was  written  a  short  time 
before  his  death,  to  a  young  friend.  This  deliberate  exposition 
of  his  faith,  and  at  such  a  season,  cancels  every  random  word  or 
sentence,  Mr.  C.  may  ever  have  expressed  or  written,  of  an  oppo- 
sing tendency.  In  thoughtless  moments  Mr.  C.  may  sometimes 
have  expressed  himself  unguardedly,  attended,  on  reflection,  no 
doubt  with  self-accusation,  but  here  in  the  full  prospect  of  disso- 
lution, he  pours  forth  the  genuine  and  ulterior  feelings  of  his  soul. 

"  To  Adam  Steinmetz  Kinnaird, 

My  dear  god-child, — I  offer  up  the  same  fervent  prayer  for 
you  now,  as  I  did  kneeling  before  the  altar,  when  you  were  bap- 
tized into  Christ,  and  solemnly  received  as  a  living  member  of  his 
spiritual  body,  the  church.  Years  must  pass  before  you  will  be 
able  to  read  with  an  understandinor  heart  what  I  now  write.     But 

o 

I  trust  that  the  all-gracious  God,  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  the  Father  of  mercies,  who,  by  his  only-begotten  Son,  (all 
mercies  in  one  sovereign  mercy !)  has  redeemed  you  from  evil 
ground,  and  willed  you  to  be  born  out  of  darkness,  but  into  light ; 
out  of  death,  but  into  life  ;  out  of  sin,  but  into  righteousness ; 
even  into  'the  Lord  our  righteousness;'  I  trust  that  he  will  gra- 
ciously hear  the  prayers  of  your  dear  parents,  and  be  with  you 
as  the  spirit  of  health  and  growth,  in  body  and  in  mind.     My 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  295 

dear  godchild,  you  received  from  Christ's  minister,  at  the  baptismal 
font,  as  your  Christian  name,  the  name  of  a  most  dear  friend  of 
your  father's,  and  Avho  was  to  me  even  as  a  son,  the  late  Adam 
Steinmetz,  whose  fervent  aspirations,  and  paramount  aim,  even 
from  early  youth,  was  to  be  a  Christian  in  thought,  v/ord,  and 
deed ;  in  will,  mind,  and  affections.  I  too,  your  godfather,  have 
known  what  the  enjoyment  and  advantages  of  this  hfe  are,  and 
what  the  more  refined  pleasures  v/hich  learning  and  intellectual 
power  can  give ;  I  now,  on  the  eve  of  my  departure,  declare  to 
you,  and  earnestly  pray  that  you  may  hereafter  live  and  act  on 
the  conviction  that  health  is  a  great  blessing ;  competence,  ob- 
tained by  honorable  industry,  a  great  blessing ;  and  a  great  bless- 
ing it  is,  to  have  kind,  faithful,  and  loving  friends  and  relatives ; 
but  that  the  greatest  of  all  blessings,  as  it  is  the  most  ennobling 
of  all  privileges,  is  to  be  indeed  a  Christian.  But  I  have  been 
likewise,  through  a  large  portion  of  my  later  life,  a  sufferer,  sorely 
^ffected  with  bodily  pains,  languor,  and  manifold  infirmities,  and 
Pbr  the  last  tjp'ce  or  four  years  have,  with  few  and  brief  intervals, 
been  confined  to  a  sick  room,  and  at  this  moment  in  great  weakness 
and  heaviness,  vrrite  from  a  sick  bed,  hopeless  of  recovery,  yet 
Vv^ithout  prospect  of  a  speedy  removal.  And  I  thus,  on  the  brink 
of  the  grave,  solemnly  bear  v/itness  to  you,  that  the  Almighty 
Redeemer,  most  gracious  in  his  promises  to  themx  that  truly  seek 
'  him,  is  faithful  to  perform  what  he  has  promised  ;  and  has  reserved 
under  all  pains  and  infirmities,  the  peace  that  passeth  all  under- 
standing, with  the  supporting  assurance  of  a  reconciled  God,  who 
will  not  withdrav/  his  spirit  from  me  in  the  conflict,  and  in  his 
own  time  vdU  deliver  me  from  the  evil  one.  0  my  dear  godchild ! 
eminently  blessed  are  they  who  begin  early  to  seek,  fear,  and  love 
their  God,  trusting  wholly  in  the  righteousness  and  mediation  of 
their  Lord,  Redeemer,  Saviour,  and  everlasting  High  Priest,  Jesus 
Christ.  Oh,  preserve  this  as  a  legacy  and  bequest  from  your 
unseen  godfather  and  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 
July  13th,  1834. 
Grove,  Hio:ho^ate.'' 

Is  the  writer  of  this  epistle  the  man,  who  twenty  years  before, 


296  REMINISCENCES   OF 


even  coveted  annihilation !  Is  this  the  man,  who  so  long  pre- 
ferred, to  all  things  else,  the  "  Circean  Chalice !"  Is  this  he, 
who  at  one  time  learned  to  his  unutterable  dismay,  what  a  sin  was, 
"  against  an  imperishable  being,  such  as  is  the  soul  of  man?"  Is 
this  he,  vv^hose  will  was  once  extinguished  by  an  unhallowed 
passion,  and  he  himself  borne  along  toward  perdition  by  a  flood 
of  intemperance  !  Is  this  the  man  who  resisted  the  light,  till 
darkness  entered  his  mind,  and  with  it  a  ''  glimpse  of  outer  dark- 
ness !"  Is  this  he,  who  feared  that  his  own  inveterate  and  aggra- 
vated crimes  would  exclude  him  from  that  heaven,  the  road  to 
which  lie  was  tracing  out  for  others  !  Is  this  he,  that  through 
successive  years,  contended  with  the  severest  mental  and  bodily 
atliictions  ;  who  knew  the  cause,  but  rejected  the  remedy  ? — who, 
in  1807,  declared  himself  " rolhng  rudderless,"  "the  wreck  of 
what  he  once  was,"  "  with  an  unceasing  overwhelming  sensation 
of  wretchedness?"  and  in  1814,  who  still  pronounced , himself  the 
endurer  of  all  that  v/as  wretched,  helpless,  and  hopeless  ?"  Sam- 
uel Taylor  Coleridge  is  the  man  on  whom  all  liiese  charges 
and  fearful  anticipations  once  rested :  but  he  it  is  fervently  hoped, 
was  changed ;  that  he  was  renovated ;  that,  when  refuge  failed, 
an  unseen  power  subdued  the  rebellious,  and  softened  the  hard ; 
and  that  he  approached  the  verge  of  life  in  the  serenity  of  faith  * 
and  hope. 

Before  the  effect  of  this  letter,  the  eccentricities  of  S.  T.  Cole-  * 
ridge — his  indiscretions,  his  frailties,  vanish  away.  There  is  in  it 
a  mellowed  character,  accordant  with  a  proximity  to  the  eternal 
state,  when  alone  the  objects  of  time  assume  their  true  dimen- 
sions ;  when,  earth  receding  ;  eternity  opening  ;  the  spirit,  called  •» 
to  launch  its  untried  bark  on  the  dark  and  stormy  waters  that 
separate  both  worlds,  descries  light  afar,  and  leans,  as  its  only 
solace,  on  the  hope  of  a  Christian. 

Checkered  indeed  was  the  hfe  of  this  great  but  imperfect  man. 
His  dawn  was  not  without  promise.  Hopes  and  blessings  at- 
tended him  in  his  course,  but  mists  obscured  his  noon,  and-  tem- 
pests long  followed  him  ;  yet  he  set,  it  is  hoped,  serene  and  in 
splendor,  looking  on,  through  faith  in  his  Redeemer,  to  that 
cloudless  morning,  where  his  sun  shall  no  more  go  down. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  297 


The  attention  of  the  reader  Avill  now  be  directed  to  letters  of  Mr. 
Southey,  briefly  relating  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  and  to  circumstances 
connected  with  the  publication  of  the  "  Early  Recollections  of  S. 
T.  Coleridge,"  1837  ; — with  a  reference  to  the  distressing  malady 
with  which  Mrs.  Southey  was  afflicted. 

'^Keswick,  Feb.  26,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  ^  ^  ^  I  never  go  out  btit  for  regular  exer- 
cise. Constant  occupation ;  a  daily  walk  whatever  the  weather 
may  be ;  constitutional  buoyancy  of  spirits ;  the  comfort  I  have 
in  my  daughters  and  son ;  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
nothing  is  neglected  for  my  dear  Edith,  which  can  be  done  by  hu- 
man care  and  dutiful  attention  ;  above  all,  a  constant  trust  in 
God's  mercy,  and  the  certainty  that  whatever  he  appoints  for  us 
is  best ;  these  are  my  supports,  and  I  have  as  much  cause  to  be 
thankful  for  present  consolation,  as  for  past  happiness. 

*  *^  "^  ^^  If  this  domestic  affliction  had  not  fal- 
len upon  us,  it  w^as  my  intention  to  have  seen  you  in  October 
1834,  and  have  brought  my  son  Cuthbert  with  me;  and  if  it 
please  God  that  I  should  ever  be  able  to  leave  home  for  a  distant 
journey,  this  I  still  hope  to  do,  and  if  you  are  not  then  in  a  bet- 
ter place  than  Bedminster,  I  am  selfish  enough  to  wish  you  may 
stay  there  till  we  meet ;  and  indeed  for  the  sake  of  others,  that  it 
may  be  to  the  utmost  limits  which  may  be  assigned  us.  I  would 
give  a  great  deal  to  pass  a  week  with  you  in  this  world.  When 
I  called  on  your  brother  Robert,  in  London,  four  years  ago,  he 
did  not  recollect  me,  and  yet  I  was  the  least  changed  of  the  two. 

I  should  very  much  like  to  show  you  the  correspondence  which 
once  passed  between  Shelley  and  myself.  Perhaps  you  are  not 
acquainted  with  half  of  his  execrable  history.  I  know  the  whole, 
and  as  he  gave  me  a  fit  opportunity,  I  read  him  such  a  lecture 
upon  it  as  he  deserved. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend, 

Robert  Southey." 

I  shall  now  refer  to  some  incidental  subjects  relating  to  Mr. 
Southey,  which  could  not  be  well  introduced  in  an  earlier  stage. 


298  REMINISCENCES   OF 

In  drawing  up  my  "Early  Recollections  of  S.  T.  Coleridge/* 
so  many  references  had  been  made  to  Mr.  Southey,  that,  notwith- 
standing his  general  permission,  I  deemed  it  proper  to  transmit 
him  the  MS.,  with  a  request  that  he  would,  without  hesitation, 
draw  his  pen  across  any  portions  to  w^hich  he  either  objected,  or 
thought  it  might  be  better  to  omit.  A  further  benefit  also  was 
anticipated  by  such  inspection,  as  any  error  w^hich  might  inad- 
vertently have  crept  in,  as  to  facts  and  dates,  w^ould  infallibly  be 
detected  by  Mr.  Southey's  more  retentive  memory.  Mr.  S.  thus 
replied : 

'^Keswick,  March  6,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

You  wall  see  that  I  have  draw^n  my  pen  across  several  passages 
in  your  MS.  of  "  Early  Recollections.'"'^  The  easiest  way  of  show- 
ing you  those  small  inaccuracies,  will  be  by  giving  j^ou  a  slight 
summary  of  the  facts,  most  of  them  antecedent  to  my  introduction 
to  you. 

Since  your  manuscript  has  arrived,  I  have  received  from  Lon- 
don, two  volumes  of  'Letters  and  Conversations  of  S.  T.  Cole- 
ridge,' published  anonymously  by  one  of  his  later  friends,  Mr. 
Alsop,  by  name,  a  person  of  whom  I  never  heard  before.  Mr. 
Moxon,  the  publisher,  whites  to  me  thus  concerning  it :  '  Li  many 
respects  I  regret  that  I  undertook  the  publication  of  the  work, 
for  though  at  my  earnest  solicitation,  many  objectionable  passa- 
ges respecting  both  yourself  and  Mr.  Wordsw^orth  Avere  left  out, 
yet  much  I  fear  still  remains  that  ought  not  to  have  been  pub- 
lished ;  and  yet  if  I  had  refused  the  w^ork,  it  w^ould  most  likely 
have  been  pubhshed  by  some  other  bookseller,  with  more  in  it  to 
offend  than  there  is  at  present.' 

Now  there  .is  nothing  in  this  work  relating  to  myself  of  the 
slightest  consequence,  but  the  worst  enemy  of  S.  T.  C.  could  not 
have  done  so  much  injury  to  his  character  as  this  injudicious  friend 
has  done  ;  who,  be  it  observed,  w^as  also  a  friend  of  Cobbet's.  He 
calls  on  Mr.  Green,  his  presumed  editor,  not  to  conceal  Coleridge's 
real  opinions  from  the  public,  and  certainly  represents  those  opin- 
ions as  being  upon  most,  if  not  all  subjects,  as   lax   as  his  own. 

*  Such  were  omitted  in  the  published  work. 


S.   T.   COfeERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  299 

Coleridge's  nephews, — the  Bishop  and  Judge — are  wantonly- 
insulted  by  this  person,  and  contemptuous  speeches  of  his  are 
reported  concerning  dead  and  living  individuals,  for  whom  he  pro- 
fessed friendship,  and  from  w^hom  he  had  received  substantial 
proofs  of  kindness.  Heaven  preserve  me  from  such  a  friend  as 
Mr.  Alsop  !  But  I  never  could  have  admitted  such  a  person  to 
my  friendship,  nor,  if  I  had,  would  he  have  any  such  traits  of 
character  to  record.  '^'  ''^  ^ 

]^ow  then  to  your  narrative,  or  rather  to  mine ;  referring  to  in- 
cidents which  took  place  before  Coleridge's  and  my  own  acquaint- 
ance with  yourself ;  by  which  you  will  perceive  on  what  small 
points  you  were  misinformed,  and  in  what  your  memory  has  de- 
ceived you. 

In  the  summer  of  1794,  S.  T.  Coleridge  and  Ilucks  came  to 
Oxford,  on  their  way  into  Wales  on  a  pedestrian  tour.  Allen  in- 
troduced them  to  me,  and  the  scheme  of  Pantisocracy  was  intro- 
duced hy  them  ;  talked  of,  by  no  means  determined  on.  It  was 
subsequently  talked  into  shape  by  Burnet  and  myself,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  long  vacation.  We  separated  from  Coleridge 
and  Hucks  ;  they  making  for  Gloucester  ;  Burnet  and  I  proceed- 
mg  on  foot  to  Bath. 

After  some  weeks,  Coleridge  returning  from  his  tour,  came  to 
Bristol  on  his  way,  and  stopped  there.  (I  being  there.)  Then  it 
was  that  we  resolved  on  going  to  America,  and  S.  T.  C.  and  I 
walked  into  Somersetshire  to  see  Burnet,  and  on  that  journey  it 
was  that  we  first  saw  Poole.  Coleridge  made  his  engagement 
with  Miss  Fricker,  on  our  return  from  this  journey,  at  my  moth- 
er's house  in  Bath  ; — not  a  little  to  my  astonishment,  for  he  had 
talked  of  being  deeply  in  love  with  a  certain  Mary  Evans.  I  had 
been  previously  engaged  to  hei  sister,  my  poor  Edith  ! — whom  it 
would  make  your  heart  ache  to  see  at  this  time  ! 

We  remained  at  Bristol  till  the  close  of  the  vacation ;  several 
weeks.  During  that  time  w^e  again  talked  of  America.  The 
funds  were  to  be  what  each  could  raise.  Coleridge,  by  his  pro- 
jected work,  '  Specimens  of  Modern  Latin  Poems,'  for  which  he 
had  printed  proposals,  and  obtained  a  respectable  list  of  Cam- 
bridge subscribers,  before  I  knew  him  :  I  by  '  Joan  of  Arc/  and 
what  else  I  might  publish.     I  had  no  rich  relations,  except  one, 


300  REMINISCENCES    0€ 


my  uncle,  John  Southey,  of  Taunton,  who  took  no  notice  of  his 
brother's  family  ;  nor  any  other  expectation.  He  hoped  to  find 
companions  with  money. 

Coleridge  returned  to  Cambridge,  and  then  published  'The 
Fall  of  Robespierre  ;'  while  Lovell  (who  had  married  one  of  the 
Miss  Frickers)  and  I,  published  a  thin  volume  of  poems  at  Bath„. 
My  first  transaction  with  you  was  for  '  Joan  of  Arc/  and  this' 
was  before  Colerido:e's  arrival  at  Bristol,  and  soon  after  Lovell  had 
introduced  me  to  you.  Coleridge  did  not  come  back  again  to 
Bristol  till  January  1795,  nor  would  he  I  believe  have  come-back 
at  all,  if  I  had  not  gone  to  London  to  look  for  him,  for  having 
got  there  from  Cambridge  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  there  he 
remained  without  writing  either  to  Miss  Fricker  or  myself. 

At  last  I  wrote  to  Favell  (a  Christ's  Hospital  boy,  whose  name 
I  knew  as  one  of  his  friends,  and  whom  he  had  set  down  as  one 
of  our  companions)  to  inquire  concerning  him,  and  learnt  in  reply, 
that  S.  T.  Coleridge  was  at  '  The  Cat  and  Salutation,'  in  ISTewgate 
Street."*  Thither  I  wrote.  He  ansAvered  my  letter,  and  said, 
that  on  such  a  day  he  should  set  off  for  Bath  by  the  waggon, 
Lovell  and  I  walked  from  Bath  to  meet  him.  Near  Marlborough 
we  met  wdth  the  appointed  waggon  ;  but  no  S.  T.  Coleridge  wat 
therein/  A  little  w^hile  afterwards,  I  went  to  London,  and  not 
finding  him  at  '  The  Cat  and  Salutation,'  called  at  Christ's  Hos- 
pital, and  was  conducted  by  Favell  to  '  The  Angel  Inn,  Butcher 
Hall  street,'  whither  Coleridge  had  shifted  his  quarters.  I  brought 
him  then  to  Bath,  and  in  a  few  days  to  Bristol. 

In  the  intermediate  time  between  his  leaving  Bristol,  and  re- 
turning to  it,  the  difficulties  of  getting  to  America  became  more 
and  more  apparent.  Wynne  wrote  to  press  upon  me  the  expedi- 
ence of  trying  our  scheme  of  Pantisocracy  in  Wales,  knowing  how 
impracticable  it  would  be  anywhere  ;  knowing  also,  that  there  was 
no  hope  of  convincing  me  of  its  impracticability,  o.t  that  time. 
In  our  former  plan  we  w^ere  all  agreed,  and  expected  that  what 
fhe  earth  failed  to  produce  for  us,  the  pen  would  supply.     Such 

*  When  Coleridge  dwelt  at  the  '  Cat  and  Salutation,'  in  Newgate  Street, 
and  talked  of  leaving  it,  his  conversation  had  brought  so  many  customers  to 
the  house,  that  the  landlord  offered  him  free-quarters  if  he  would  only  stay 
and  continue  to  talk. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  301 


were  our  views  in  January  1^795  ;  when  S.  T.  Coleridge  gave  his 
first  and  second  lectures  in  the  Corn  Market,  and  his  third  in  a 
vacant  house  in  Castle  Green.  These  were  followed  by  my  lec- 
tures, and  you  know  the  course  of  our  lives  till  the  October  fol- 
lowing, when  we  parted. 

By  that  time  I  had  seen  that  no  dependence  could  be  placed  on 
Coleridge.  ISTo  difference  took  place  between  us  when  I  commu- 
nicated to  him  my  intention  of  going  with  my  uncle  to  Lisbon, 
por  even  a  remonstrance  on  his  part ;  nor  had  I  the  slightest  sus- 
picion that  he  intended  to  quarrel  with  me,  till 's  insolence 

made  it  apparent ;  and  I  then  learnt  from  Mrs.  Morgan  (poor 
John  Morgan's  mother)  in  what  manner  he  w^as  speaking  of 
me.  This  was  in  October.  From  that  time  to  my  departure 
for  Lisbon  you  know  my  history.  Lovell  did  not  die  till  six 
months  afterward.  The  '  Watchman'  was  not  projected  till  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Lisbon. 

Poor  Burnet's  History  would  require  a  letter  of  itself.  He  be- 
came deranged  on  one  point,  which  was  that  of  hatred  to  me, 
whom  ]ie  accused  of  having  jealously  endeavored  to  suppress  his 
talents  !  This  lasted  about  six  months  in  the  year  1802,  and  it 
returned  again  in  the  last  year  of  his  life.  The  scheme  of  Panti- 
socracy  proved  his  ruin  ;  but  he  was  twice  placed  in  situations 
where  he  was  well  provided  for.  I  had  the  greatest  regard 
for  him,  and  would  have  done,  and  indeed,  as  far  as  was  in 
my  power,  did  my  utmost  to  serve  him.  God  bless  you,  my  dear 
0^  friend, 

Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

*' Keswick,  14  April,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

If  you  are  drawing  up  your  'Recollections  of  Coleridge,' for 
separate  publication,  you  are  most  welcome  to  insert  anything  of 
mine  which  you  might  think  proper;  but  it  is  my  wish  that 
nothing  of  mine  may  go  into  the  hands  of  any  person  concerned  in 
bringing  forward  Coleridge's  MSS. 

I  know  that  Coleridge,  at  different  times  of  his  life,  never  let 
pass  an  opportunity  of  speaking  ill  of  me.     Both  Wordsworth  and 


302  REMINISCENCES    OF 

myself  have  often  lamented  the  exposure  of  dupUcity  which  must 
result  from  the  publication  of  his  letters,  and  by  what  he  has  de- 
livered by  word  of  mouth  to  the  worshippers  by  whom  he  was 
always  surrounded.  To  Wordsworth  and  to  me,  it  matters  little. 
Colerido'e  received  from  us  such  substantial  services  as  few  men 
have  received  from  those  whose  friendship  they  had  forfeited. 
This  indeed  was  not  the  case  with  Wordsworth,  as  it  was  with 
me,  for  he  knew  not  in  what  manner  Coleridge  had  latterly  spoken 
of  him.  But  I  continued  all  possible  offices  of  kindness  to  his 
children,  long  after  I  regarded  his  own  conduct  with  that  utter 
disapprobation  which  alone  it  can  call  forth  from  all  who  had  any 
sense  of  duty  and  moraL^bligation. 

Poole, '^  from  whom  I  had  a  letter  by  the  same  post  with  yours, 
thinks,  from  what  you  have  said  concerning  Coleridge's  habit  of 
taking  opium,  that  it  would  operate  less  to  deter  others  from  the 
practice,  than  it  would  lead  them  to  flatter  themselves  in  indulging 
in  it,  by  the  example  of  so  great  a  man.  That  there  is  some  prob- 
ability in  this  I  happen  to  know  from  the  effect  of  Mr.  De  Quin- 
cey's  book ;  one  who  had  never  taken  a  drop  of  opium  before,  but 
took  so  large  a  dose,  for  the  sake  of  experiencing  the  sensations 
which  had  been  described,  that  a  very  little  addition  to  the  dose 
might  have  proved  fatal.  There,  however,  the  mischief  ended,  for 
he  never  repeated  the  experiment.  But  I  apprehend  if  you  send 
what  you  have  written  about  Coleridge  and  opium,  it  will  not  be 
made  use  of,  and  that  Coleridge's  biographer  will  seek  to  find  ex- 
cuses for  his  abuse  of  that  drug.  Indeed,  in  Mr.  Alsop's  book,  it 
is  affirmed  that  the  state  of  his  heart,  and  other  appearances  in 
his  chest,  showed  the  habit  to  have  been  brought  on  by  the  pres- 
sure of  disease  in  tliose  parts : — the  more  likely  inference  is,  that 
the  excess  brought  on  the  disease. 

I  am  much  pleased  with  your  *  Predictions.''  Those  who  will 
not  be  convinced  by  such  scriptural  proofs,  if  they  pretend  to  ad- 
mit any  authority  in  the  Scriptures,  would  not,  though  one  rose 
from  the  dead. 

*  Mr.  Poole,  who  requested  it  as  a  favor,  came  all  the  way  from  Stowey  to 
peruse  my  MS.  "  Recollections  of  Coleridge,"  and  who  I  have  good  reason 
to  believe,  without  any  unkind  intention,  communicated  a  report  to  C." 
relations. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  303 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend.  Whenever  I  can  take  a 
journey,  I  will,  if  you  are  living,  come  to  Bedminster.  There  is 
no  other  place  in  the  world  which  I  remember  with  such  feelings 
as  that  villagfe."^ 

Believe  me  always  yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

In  answer  to  an  invitation,  Mr.  Southey  thus  replied. 

'^Keswick,  August  16,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  ^  ^  ^  Be  assured,  whenever  it  may  seem 
fitting  for  me  to  take  so  long  a  journey,  I  shall  come  to  you  with 
as  cordial  a  feeling  of  unchanged  and  unabated  friendship  as  that 
with  which  you  I  know  will  receive  me.  It  is  very  much  my  wish 
to  do  so,  to  show  Cuthbert  my  son  (who  will  accompany  me)  the 
scenes  of  my  boyhood  and  youth,  and  the  few  friends  who  are  left 
to  me  in  the  West  of  England.  There  is  an  urgent  reason  why  I 
should  go  to  London  before  the  last  volume  of  Cowper  is  brought 
forth,  if  domestic  circumstances  can  be  so  arranged  as  to  admit 
of  this,  and  I  would  fain  hope  it  may  be ;  I  shall  then  certainly 
proceed  to  the  west. 

Longman  has  determined  to  print  my  poetical  works  in  ten 
monthly  parts,  and  I  have  to  prepare  accordingly  for  the  press. 
No  one  will  take  more  interest  than  yourself  in  this  arrangement. 
I  have  much  to  correct,  much  to  alter,  and  not  a  little  to  add ; 
among  other  things,  a  general  preface,  tracing  the  circumstances 
which  contributed  to  determine  my  course  as  a  poet. 

I  can  say  nothing  which  would  give  you  pleasure  to  hear  on  a 
subjectf  which  concerns  me  so  nearly.     We  have  continued  va- 

*  Mr.  Southey 's  grandfather  lived  in  the  old  manor-house  at  Bedminster, 
where  in  his  younger  days,  Mr.  S.  passed  many  of  his  happiest  hours.  When 
spending  a  week  with  me  at  Bedminster,  within  a  year  of  the  date  of  tliis 
letter,  he  went  to  the  old  house,  and  requested  permission  of  the  strangers 
who  inhabited  his  grandfother's  mansion,  to  walk  round  the  garden,  and  re- 
new his  acquaintance  with  the  old  trees  which  he  used  to  climb  nearly  sixty 
years  before  ;  a  request  which  was  readily  granted.  The  revival  of  such  in- 
teresting associations,  had  they  occurred  at  a  former  period,  would  doubtless 
have  produced  some  exquisite  poetical  record. 

t  The  illness  of  Mrs.  Edith  Southey. 


304  REMINISCENCES   OF 

nations  of  better  and  worse,  with  no  tendency  to  amendment; 
and  according  to  all  human  foresight,  no  hope  of  recovery.  We 
entertain  no  guests,  and  admit  no  company  whom  it  is  possible  to 
exclude.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend,  and  believe'  me  al- 
ways Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

I  now  refer  to  an  occurrence  that  gave  me  some  uneasiness.  It 
appears,  from  the  following  letter,  that  the  family  of  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge felt  uneasy  at  learning  tliat  I  intended  to  disclose  to  the 
public,  the  full  extent  of  Mr.  C.'s  subjection  to  opium. 

"September  30,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

*  *  ^  Coleridge's  relations  are  uneasy  at  what  they 
hear  of  your  intention  to  publish  an  account  of  him.  Yesterday 
I  learnt  personally,  from  an  influential  member  of  the  family,  what 
their  objections  particularly  were.  He  specified  as  points  on 
which  they  were  uncomfortable,  Coleridge's  own  letter,  or  letters, 
respecting  opium,  and  the  circumstances  of  a  gift  of  three  hundred 
pounds  from  Mr.  De  Quincey. 

The  truth  is,  that  Coleridge's  relations  are  placed  in  a  most  un- 
comfortable position.  They  cannot  say  that  any  one  of  them- 
selves will  bring  out  a  full  and  authentic  account  of  C.  because 
they  knoAV  how  much  there  is,  which  all  who  have  any  regard  for 
Coleridge's  memory,  would  wish  to  be  buried  with  him.  But  we 
will  talk  over  the  subject  when  we  meet.  Meantime  I  have  as- 
sured   that  your  feelings  toward  Coleridge  are,  what  they 

have  ever  been,  friendly  in  the  highest  degree. 

How  like  a  dream  does  the  past  appear  !  through  the  last  years 
of  my  life  more  than  any  other  part.  All  hope  of  recovery,  or 
even  of  amendment,  is  over  !  In  all  reason  I  am  convinced  of 
this ;  and  yet  at  times  when  Edith  speaks  and  looks  like  herself, 
I  am  almost  ready  to  look  for  what,  if  it  occurred,  would  be  a 
miracle.  It  is  quite  necessary  that  I  should  he  weaned  from  this 
constant  object  of  solicitude ;  so  far  at  least  as  to  refresh  myself, 
and  recruit  for  another  period  of  confinement.  Like  all  other 
duties,  it  brings  with  it  its  reward ;    and  when  I  consider  with 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE    AND    R.    SOUTHEV.  305 

how  many  mercies  this  affliction  has  been  tempered,  I  have  cause 
indeed  to  be  thankful.     Believe  me  always,  my  dear  Cottle, 
Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

A  few  days  after,  I  received  the  following  letter  from  Mr. 
Southey : — 

"Keswick,  Oct.  10,  1836. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

I  have  long  foreseen  that  poor  S.  T.  Coleridge  would  leave  a 
large  inheritance  of  uneasiness  to  his  surviving  friends,  and  those 
who  w^ere  the  most  nearly  connected  with  him. 

The  Head  of  the  Family  being  in  these  parts,  I  have  heard 
more  concerning  the  affair  of  your  Memoir,  as  it  respects  the  feel- 
ings of  that  family,  than  I  should  otherwise.  He  is  a  thoroughly 
good  man  ;  mild,  unassuming,  amiable  and  judicious  beyond  most 
men.  This  matter  interests  him  greatly,  on  account  of  his  brother 
having  married  Mr.  S.  T.  Coleridge's  daughter.     Indeed  it  is  in 

consequence  of  a  letter  from  the that  I  am  now  writing. 

He  cared  nothing  when  a  gross  and  wanton  insult  was  offered  to 
him  in  that         ^         ''^         ^''  '''        book,  but  on  this  occasion 

he  is  much  concerned. 

A  few  omissions  (one  letter  in  particular,  respecting  the  habit 
of  taking  opium)  would  spare  them  great  pain,  and  leave  your 
book  little  the  poorer,  rich  as  your  materials  are.  Wilfully  I  am 
sure  you  never  gave  pain  to  any  human  being,  nor  any  living 
creature.  ''''         '^         You  are  not  like  a  witness  who  is  re- 

quired to  tell  all  which  he  knovrs.  In  those  cases  the  moral  law 
requires  us  to  tell  nothing  but  the  truth,  but  does  not  demand  the 
whole  truth,  unless  the  suppression  of  any  part  of  it  should  be 
tantamount  to  falsehood. 

Of  this  indeed  you  are  fully  aware.  You  have  enough  to  tell 
that  is  harmless  as  well  as  interesting,  and  not  only  harmless,  but 
valuable  and  instructive,  and  that  ouyht  to  be  told,  and  which  no 
one  but  yourself  can  tell.     Strike  out  only  ^         ^'         I  will 

read  over  the  Memoir  when  we  meet.  You  have  abundance  of 
materials  ;  and  many  things  may  come  to  mind  which  may  supply 


306  REMINISCENCES  OF 


the  place  of  what  should  be  Vvithdrawn.  You  will  understand  my 
motive  in  pressing  this  iqjon  you.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  old 
friend. 

Yours  most  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

As  I  determined  to  publish  nothing  relating  to  Mr.  Coleridge, 
without  Mr.  Southey's  sanction,  my  first  impression,  on  the  receipt 
of  this  letter,  \vas,  wholly  to  withdraw  the  work ; — but  as  I  ex- 
pected soon  to  see  Mr.  S.,  I  resolved  to  suspend  my  determination 
till  he  had  an  opportunity  of  inspecting  the  MS.  once  more,  when 
liis   specific  objections  might  be  better  understood. 

Tv/o  or  three  wrecks  after  receiving  the  former  letter,  Mr.  S. 
addressed  to  me  the  follov;ing  hasty  line  : — 

''  Friday,  Xov.  1,  1836,  Pipe  Haj^es. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

Here  we  are,  six  miles  fr*om  Birmingham.  Our  places  are  taken 
for  Thursday  morning,  in  the  coach  which  starts  from  the  Hen 
and  Chickens,  Birmino-ham.  To  what  Inn  it  comes  in  Bristol,  1 
forgot  to  ask.  So,  if  on  our  arrival  w^e  do  not  find  your  vehicle, 
"  we  shall  pack  ourselves  and  our  luggage,  in  a  hackney-coach, 
without  delay,  and  drive  to  Carlton  Villa.  So  on  Thursday 
evening  I  hope  to  see  you. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend, 

Robert  Southey." 
P.  S.     *'  I  saw  Wordsvrorth  on  my  way,  and  mentioned  your 
wdsh  about  engraving  his  portrait.     He  referred  it  entirely  to  my 
opinion  of  its  likeness.'"*^ 

On  his  arrival,  Mr.  Southey  deliberately  re-read  the  whole  of 
my  MS.,  and  objected  alone  to  a  few  trifles,  which  were  expunged. 
He  read  the  series  of  opium  letters  with  a  mind  evidently  affected, 
but  no  part  did  he  interdict.  He  now  arrived  at,  and  read  the 
solemn  Testamentary  Letter,  (p.  292).     I  said  to  him,  "Southey, 

*  Mr.  S.  deemed  it  an  admirable  likeness  of  Mr.  W.  as  he  appeared  in 
younger  life ;  and  said  that  it  bore  at  the  present  time,  a  striking  resemblance 
to  Mr.  W.'s  son. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  307 

shall  I,  or  shall  I  not,  omit  this  letter  ?"  He  paused  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  distinctly  said  :  ''  You  must  print  it.  It  is  your 
authority  for  what  you  have  done."  He  then  continued,  "  You 
must  print  it  also,  for  the  sake  of  faithful  biography,  and  for  the 
beneficial  effect  this,  and  the  other  opium  letters  must  inevitably 
produce."  This  unqualified  approval  determined  me  to  publish 
the  whole  of  the  opium  letters. 

I  here  give  the  next  letter  I  received  from  Mr.  Southey,  when 
he  had  returned  home,  after  his  long  excursion  to  Bristol,  and  the 
West  of  England,  by  which  it  will  be  perceived  that  no  after  in- 
clination existed  in  Mr.  S.'s  mind  to  alter  the  opinion  he  had 
given. 

*^  Keswick,  May  9,  1837. 
My  dear  Cottle, 

It  is  scarcely  possible  that  a  day  should  pass,  in  which  some 
circumstance,  some  object^  or  traia  of  recollection,  does  not  bring 
you  to  my  mind.  You  may  suppose,  then,  how  much  I  thought 
of  you  during  the  employment  I  recently  got  through,  of  cor- 
recting '  Joan  of  Arc  for  the  last  time.  ^  ^'         '^ 

Our  journey,  after  we  left  your  comfortable  house,  was  as  pros- 
perous as  it  could  be*  at  that  time  of  the  year.  We  have  reason, 
indeed,  to  be  thankful,  that  travelling  so  many  hundred  miles, 
in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  over  all  kinds  of  roads,  we  met  with  no 
mischief  of  any  kind  ;  nor  any  difficulties  greater  than  what 
served  for  matter  of  amusement.  During  the  great  hurricane  we 
were  at  Dav/lish,  in  a  house  on  the  beach,  from  which  we  saw  the 
full  effect  of  its  force  on  the  sea. 

The  G^reat  snow-storm  caus^ht  us  at  Tavistock,  and  rendered  it 
impossible  for  us  to  make  our  intended  excursion  on  Dartmoor. 
Cuthbert  and  I  parted  company  at  my  friend.  Miss  Caroline 
Bowles's,  near  Lymington,  he  going  to  his  brother-in-law,  (at 
Terring,  where  he  is  preparing  for  the  University,)  I,  the  next 
day,  to  London.  I  joined  him  again  at  Terring,  three  weeks 
afterward  ;  and,  after  a  week,  made  the  best  of  my  w^ay  home. 

The  objects  of  my  journey  were  fully  accomplished.  Cuth- 
bert has  seen  most  of  the  spots  which  I  desired  to  show  him,  and 
has  been  introduced  to  the  few  old  friends  whom  I  have  left  in 
the  West  of  England.     I  had  much  pleasure,  but  not   umningled 


308  REMINISCENCES   OF 


with  pain,  in  visiting  many  places  which  brought  back  vividly  the 
remembrance  of  former  days  ;  but  to  Cuthbert  all  was  pure 
pleasure. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  old  friend. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Southey." 

In  a  previous  letter  Mr.  Southey  had  said  in  a  contemplative 
mood, — 

^         *         ^'  ''  Little  progress  is  made  in  my  '  Life  of 

George  Fox,'  but  considerable  preparation.  This,  and  some 
sketches  of  Monastic  history,  will  probably  complete  the  ecclesi- 
astical portion  of  my  labors.  Alas  !  I  have  undertaken  more  than 
there  is  any  reasonable  likelihood  of  completing.  My  head  will 
soon  be  white,  and  I  feel  a  disposition  to  take  more  thought  for  the 
morrow  than  I  was  wont  to  do ;  not  as  if  distrusting  Providence, 
which  has  hitherto  supported  me,  but. my  own  poioers  of  exertion  !^^ 

I  pass  over  the  intervening  period  between  this  and  my  old 
friend's  mental  affliction,  as  more  properly  belonging  to  Mr. 
Southey 's  regular  biographer,  but  this  much  I  may  observe. 

Having  heard,  with  the  deepest  concern,  that  Mr.  Southey 's 
mind  was  affected,  I  addressed  a  kind  letter  to  him,  to  inquire 
after  his  health,  and  requested  only  one  line  from  him,  to  relieve 
my  anxiety,  if  only  the  signing  of  his  name.  I  received  a  letter 
in  reply,  from  his  kindest  friend,  of  which  the  following  is  an  ex- . 
tract. 

^i  Hi  %  %  a  With  deep  and  affectionate  interest  he  read 
and  re-read  your  letter,  and  many  times  in  the  course  of  the  evening 
he  received  it  I  observed  tears  in  his  eyes.  '  I  will  write  to  Cottle,' 
he  has  often  repeated  since,  but  alas !  the  purpose  remains  unful- 
filled, and  from  me,  dear  sir,  you  must  receive  the  explanation  of 
his  silence."  ^  ^         * 

On  communicating  this  melancholy  intelligence  to  my  old  and 
valued  friend,  Mr.  Foster,  he  thus  replied. 


1 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  309 

*'  My  dear  Sir, 

I  am  obliged  for  your  kind  note,  and  the  letter,  which  I  here 
return.  I  can  well  believe  that  you  must  feel  it  a  mournful  com- 
munication. A  friend  in  early  life ;  a  friend  ever  since ;  a  man 
highly,  and  in  considerable  part,  meritoriously  conspicuous  in  the 
literature  of  the  age  ;  and  now  at  length  prostrated,  and  on  the 
borders  of  the  grave ;  for  there  can  be  no  doubt  the  bodily  catas- 
trophe will  soon  follow  the  mental  one.  It  is  a  most  wonderful 
career  that  he  has  run  in  literary  achievement,  and  it  is  striking  to 
see  such  a  man  disabled  at  last,  even  to  write  a  letter  to  an  old 
friend !  It  is  interesting  to  myself,  as  it  must  be  to  every  one  ac- 
customed to  contemplate  the  labors  and  productions  of  mind,  to 
see  such  a  spirit  finally  resigning  its  favorite  occupations,  and  re- 
tiring from  its  fame !"         *         '^ 

Mr.  Foster,  referring  to  the  death  of  his  friends,  thus  afterwards 
wrote. 

"Stapleton,  June  22,  1842. 
My  dear  Sir, 

*  ^  *  How  our  old  circle  is  narrowing  around  us. 
Going  back  just  three  years  and  a-half,  I  was  recounting  yester- 
day eleven  persons  departed  within  that  space  of  time ;  three- 
fourths  of  those  who  had  formed,  till  then,  the  list  of  my  old 
friends  and  acquaintance,  leaving  just  a  few,  how  few,  of  those 
who  are  my  coevals,  or  approaching  to  that  standard.  You  are 
within  one,  and  he  at  a  great  distance,  whom  I  may  never  see 
again,  the  oldest  in  both  senses,  of  the  almost  solitary  remainder. 
Our  day  is  not  far  off.  Oh,  may  we  be  prepared  to  welcome  its 
arrival."         ^         ^         ^' 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  another  letter  of  Mr.  Foster's 
containing  the  same  train  of  thought. 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

*  ^  ^  My  thoughts  are  often  pensively  turning  on 
the  enumeration  of  those  I  may  call  my  coevals  ;  and  many  of 
them  of  long  acquaintance  who  have  been  called  away  within 


310  REMINISCENCES   OP 

tliese  few  years.  An  old,  and  much  valued  friend  at  Worcester, 
Mr.  Stokes,  from  whose  funeral  I  returned  little  more  than  in  time 
to  attend  that  of  our  estimable  friend,  your  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Hare  ;  since  then,  your  excellent  sister  Mary.  Mr.  Coles,  of 
Bourton,  known  and  esteemed  almost  forty  years.  Mr.  Adding- 
ton.  Lately  in  Scotland,  the  worthy  Mr.  Dove  ;  and  now  last  of 
all,  so  unexpectedly,  Mr.  Roberts.  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr. 
Wade's,  perhaps  not  more  than  ten  days  before  his  death.  *  * 
With  friendly  regards,  I  remain,  my  dear  sir. 

Most  truly  yours, 

John  Foster.'* 

A  letter  of  mine  to  Mr.  Foster,  referring  chiefly  to  Mr.  Southey, 
may  not  inappropriately  be  here  introduced. 

''July  6,  1842. 
To  the  Rev.  John  Foster, 

My  dear  Sir, — I  sympathize  with  you  on  the  comparatively 
recent  loss  of  so  large  a  proportion  of  your  early  friends  and 
acquaintance.  I  can,  to  a  great  extent,  participate  in  similar 
feelings.  Yourself  and  Mr.  Wordsvf orth  are  the  only  two  sur* 
vivors,  of  all  with  whom  in  early  life  I  joined  in  familiar  inter- 
course, for  poor  dear  Southey  since  I  last  wrote  to  you  concern- 
ing him,  is  worse  than  dead.  Mr.  W.,  who  dined  with  me  last 
summer,  told  me  that  he  does  not  now  know  his  own  children.  He 
said,  he  had  a  short  time  previously  called  upon  him,  and  he 
fancied  that  a  slight  glimpse  of  remembrance  crossed  his  mind, 
when,  in  a  moment,  he  silently  passed  to  his  library,  and  taking 
down  a  book,  (  from  mechanical  habit,)  turned  over  the  pages, 
without  reading,  or  the  power  of  reading.  Pardon  prolixity,  where 
the  heart  is  so  full.  Surely  the  world  does  not  present  a  more 
melancholy,  or  a  more  humiliating  sight,  than  the  prostration  of 
so  noble  a  mind  as  that  of  my  old  and  highly-prized  friend,  Robert 
Southey.  When  I  first  knew  him,  he  had  all  that  Westminster 
and  Oxford  could  give  him.  He  was,  as  the  Mores  said,  to  whom 
I  had  introduced  him,  "  brimful  of  literature :"  decisive  and  en- 
thusiastic in  all  liis  sentiments,  and  impetuous  in  all  his  feelings, 
whether  of  approval  or  dislike.     I  never  knew  one  more  uncom^ 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHED.  311 


promising  in  what  lie  believed  either  to  be  right,  or  wrono- ; 
thereby  marking  the  integrity  of  his  mind,  which  ever  shrunk 
from  the  most  distant  approximation  to  duplicity  or  meanness. 

This  disposition  manifested  itself  almost  in  infancy,  for  his 
mother,  an  acute  and  very  worthy  woman,  told  me,  in  the  year 
1798,  that  whenever  any  mischief  or  accident  occurred  amongst 
the  children,  which  some  might  v/ish  to  conceal,  she  always  ap- 
plied to  Robert,  who  never  hesitated,  or  deviated  from  the  truth, 
though  he  himself  might  have  been  implicated.  And  in  after 
life,  whatever  sentiments  he  avowed,  none  who  knew  the  confirmed 
fidelity  of  his  mind,  could  possibly  doubt  that  they  were  the 
genuine  dictates  of  his  heart. 

There  was  in  Southey,  alas  !  his  sun  is  set ! — I  must  write  in 
the  third  person  ! — one  other  quality  which  commands  admiration ; 
an  habitual  delicacy  in  his  conversation,  evidencing  that  cheer- 
fulness and  wit  might  exist  vrithout  ribaldry,  grossness,  or  pro- 
fanation. He  neither  violated  decorum  himself,  nor  tolerated  it 
in  others.  I  have  been  present  when  a  trespasser  of  the  looser 
class,  has  received  a  rebuke,  I  might  say  a  castigation,  well  de- 
served, and  not  readily  forgotten.  His  abhorrence  also  of  injus- 
tice, or  unworthy  conduct,  in  its  diversified  shapes,  had  all  the 
decision  of  a  Roman  censor ;  while  this  apparent  austerity  was 
associated,  Avhen  in  the  society  he  liked,  with  so  bland  and  playful 
a  spirit,  that  it  abolished  all  constraint,  and  rendered  him  one  of 
the  most  agreeable,  as  well  as  the  most  intelligent  of  companions. 

It  must  occasionally  have  been  exemplified  in  your  experience, 
that  some  writers  who  have  acquired  a  transient  popularity,  per- 
chance more  from  adventitious  causes,  than  sterling  merit,  appear 
at  once  to  occupy  an  increased  space,  and  fancy  that  he  who  fills 
his  own  field  of  vision,  occupies  the  s^me  space  in  the  view  of 
others.  This  disposition  will  almost  invariably  be  found  in  those 
who  most  readily  depreciate  those  whom  they  cannot  excel ;  as  if 
every  concession  to  the  merits  of  another  subtracted  from  their 
own  claims.  Southey  was  eminently  exempt  from  this  little 
feeling.  He  heartily-  encouraged  genius,  wherever  it  was  dis- 
coverable ;  whether,  '  with  all  appliances,'  the  jewel  shone  forth 
from  academic  bowers,  or  whether  the  gem  was  incrusted  with 


312  REMINISCENCES   OF 


4 

irnt  P 


extraneous  matter,  and  required  the  toil  of  polishing ;  indiffemt 
to  him,  it  met  with  the  encouraging  smile,  and  the  fostering  care. 

It  may  be  truly  said,  Mr.  Southey  exacted  nothing,  and  conse- 
quently his  excellencies  were  the  more  readily  allowed  ;  and  this 
merit  was  the  greater,  since,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  remarked,  '  he  had 
written  on  so  many  subjects,  and  so  well  on  all.'  Although  his 
company  was  sought  by  men  of  the  first  rank  and  talent,  from 
whom  he  always  received  that  acknowledgment,  if  not  deference, 
which  is  due  to  great  attainments  and  indisputable  genius,  yet 
such  honors  excited  no  plebeian  pride.  It  produced  none  of  that 
morbid  inflation,  which  wherever  found,  instinctively  excites  a  re- 
pulsive feeling.  It  was  this  unassuming  air,  this  suavity  of 
deportment,  which  so  attached  Southey  to  his  friends,  and  gave 
such  permanence  to  their  regard. 

It  seems  almost  invidious  to  single  out  one  distinguishing  qual- 
ity in  his  mind,  when  so  many  deserve  notice,  but  I  have  often 
been  struck  with  the  quickness  of  his  perception  ;  the  prompti- 
tude with  which  he  discovered  whatever  was  good  or  bad  in  com- 
position, either  in  prose  or  verse.  When  reading  the  production 
of  another,  the  tones  of  his  voice  became  a  merit- thermometer,  a 
sort  of  Molian-liar'p'test ;  in  the  flat  parts  his  voice  was  unimpas- 
sioned,  but  if  the  gust  of  genius  swept  over  the  wires,  his  tones 
rose  in  intensity,  till  his  own  energy  of  feeling  and  expression 
kindled  in  others  a  sympathetic  impulse,  which  the  dull  were 
forced  to  feel,  whilst  his  animated  recitations  threw  fresh  meaning 
into  the  minds  of  the  more  discerning. 

What  an  emblem  of  human  instability  !  The  idea  of  Robert 
Southey's  altered  state  can  hardly  force  itself  on  my  imagination. 
The  image  of  one  lately  in  full  vigor,  who  appeared,  but  as  yes- 
terday, all  thought  and  animation,  whose  mind  exhibited  a  sort  of 
rocky  firmness,  and  seemed  made  almost  for  perpetuity  ;  I  say  it 
is  hard  to  conceive  of  faculties  so  strong  and  richly  matured,  re- 
duced now  even  to  imbecility  !  The  image  of  death  I  could  with- 
stand, for  it  is  the  lot  of  mortals,  but  the  spectacle  of  such  a  mind 
associated  with  living  extinction,  appears  in'congruous,  and  to  ex- 
ceed the  power  of  possible  combination.  Those  who  witnessed 
the  progressive  advances  of  this  mournful  condition  were  prepared 
for  the  event  by  successive  changes,  but  with  my  anterior  impres- 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  313 

sions,  if  in  his  present  state  I  were  to  be  abruptly  presented  to 
Robert  Southey,  and  met  the  vacant  and  cold  glance  of  indiffer- 
ence, the  concussion  to  my  feelings  would  so  overwhelm,  that 
— merciful  indeed  would  be  the  power  which  shielded  me  from  a 
like  calamity. 

Southey  spent  a  week  with  me,  four  or  five  years  ago,  when  he 
manifested  the  same  kind  and  cordial  behavior,  which  he  had 
uniformly  displayed  for  nearly  half  a  century,  and  which  had 
never  during  that  long  period  been  interrupted  for  a  moment. 
Nor  was  steadfastness  in  friendship  one  of  his  least  excellencies. 
From  the  kindliness  of  his  spirit,  he  excited  an  affectionate  esteem 
in  his  friends,  which  they  well  knew  no  capriciousness  on  his  part 
would  interrupt :  to  which,  it  might  be  added,  his  mind  wms  well 
balanced,  presenting  no  unfavorable  eccentricities,  and  but  few  de- 
mands for  the  exercise  of  charity.  Justly  also,  may  it  be  affirmed, 
that  he  was  distinguished  for  the  exemplary  discharge  of  all  the 
social  and  relative  virtues  ;  disinterestedly  generous,  and  scrupu- 
lously conscientious,  presenting  in  his  general  deportment,  courte- 
ousness  without  serv-ility,  and  dignity  without  pride.  There  was 
in  him  so  much  kindliness  and  sincerity,  so  much  of  upright  pur- 
pose, and  generous  feeling,  that  the  belief  is  forced  on  the  mind, 
that,  through  the  whole  range  of  biographical  annals,  few  men, 
endowed  with  the  higher  order  of  intellect,  have  possessed  more 
qualities  commanding  esteem  than  Robert  Southey  ;  who  so  hap- 
pily blended  the  great  with  the  amiable,  or  whose  memory  will 
become  more  permanently  fragrant  to  the  lovers  of  genius,  or  the 
friends  of  virtue.  Nor  would  Southey  receive  a  fair  measure  of 
justice  by  any  display  of  personal  worth,  without  noticing  the 
application  of  his  talents.  His  multifarious  writings,  whilst  they 
embody  such  varied  excellence,  display  wherever  the  exhibition 
was  demanded,  or  admissible,  a  moral  grandeur,  and  reverence 
of  religion,  which  indirectly  reflects  on  some,  less  prodigally  en- 
dowed, who  do,  and  have,  corrupted  by  their  prose,  or  dissemi- 
nated their  pollutions  through  the  sacred,  but  desecrated  medium 
of  song. 

It  was  always  a  luxury  with  Southey  to  talk  of  old  times,  pla- 
ces, and  persons  ;  and  Bristol,  with  its  vicinities,  he  thought  the 
most  beautiful  city  he  had  ever  seen.  When  a  boy  he  was  almost 
^  14 


314  REMINISCENCES   OF 


"mI 


a  resident  among  St.  Vincent's  Rocks,  and  Leigh  Woods, 
view,  from  the  Coronation  Road,  of  the  Ilotwells,  with  Clifton, 
and  its  triple  crescents,  he  thought  surpassed  any  view  of  the  kind 
in  Europe.  He  loved  also  to  extol  his  own  mountain  scenery,  and, 
at  his  last  visit,  upbraided  me  for  not  paying  him  a  visit  at  Greta 
Hall,  where,  he  said,  he  would  have  shown  me  the  glories  of  the 
district,  and  also  have  given  me  a  sail  on  the  lake,  in  his  own  boat, 
*  The  Royal  Noah.'  After  dv,elling  on  his  entrancing  water- 
scenes,  and  misty  eminences,  he  vv^anted  much,  he  said,  to  show 
me  his  library,  which  at  that  time  consisted  of  fourteen  thousand 
volumes,  which  he  had  been  accumulating  all  his  life,  from  the 
rare  catalogues  of  all  nations  :  but  still,  he  remarked,  he  had  a 
list  of*  five  hundred  other  volumes  to  obtain,  and  after  possessing 
these,  he  said,  he  should  be  satisfied.  Alas  !  he  little  knew,  how 
soon  the  whole  would  appear  to  him — less  than  the  herbage  of 
the  desert ! 

At  this  time,  Mr.  S.  mentioned  a  trifling  occurrence,  arising  out 
of  what  happened  to  be  the  nature  of  our  conversation,  although 
it  is  hardly  worth  naming  to  you,  who  so  lightly  esteem  human 
honors.  He  said,  some  years  before,  when  he  chanced  to  be  in 
London,  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  but,  subsequently,  he  received  an  invitation  for  the 
same  day,  from  the  Duchess  of  Kent,  to  dine  at  Kensington 
Palace ;  and  as  invitations  from  Royalty  supersede  all  others,  he 
sent  an  apology  to  the  Archbishop,  and  dined  with  more  Lords 
and  Ladies  than  he  could  remember.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
repast,  before  the  Ladies  retired,  she  v/ho  was  destined  to  receive 
homage,  on  proper  occasions,  had  learnt  to  pay  respect,  for  the 
young  Princess  (our  present  gracious  Queen  Victoria)  came  up  to 
him,  and  courtesying,  very  prettily  said,  '  Mr.  Southey,  I  thank  you 
for  the  pleasure  I  have  received  in  reading  your  Life  of  Lord 
Nelson. ' 

I  must  mention  one  other  trait  in  Southey,  which  did  him  pecul- 
iar honor ;  I  allude  to  the  readiness  with  which  he  alluded  to  any 
little  acts  of  kindness  which  he  might  have  received  from  any  of 
his  friends,  in  past  years.  To  the  discredit  of  human  nature,  there 
is  in  general  a  laborious  endeavor  to  bury  all  such  remembrances 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  315 

in  the  waters  of  Lethe  :  Southey's  mind  was  formed  on  a  differ- 
ent model. 

The  tear  which  dims  my  eye,  attests  the  affection  which  I  still 
bear  to  poor  dear  Southey.  Few  knew  him  better  than  myself, 
or  more  highly  estimated  the  fine  qualities  of  his  head  and  heart ; 
and  still  fewer  can  be  oppressed  with  deeper  commiseration  for 
his  present  forlorn  and  hopeless  condition.  ^'  *  ^  -^j 
dear  sir. 

Most  truly  yours, 

Rey.  John  Foster.  Joseph  Cottle." 

I  HAyE  now  to  present  the  reader  with  a  series  of  letters  from 
Mr.  Coleridge  to  the  late  Josiah  and  Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esqrs. ; 
obligingly  communicated  to  me  by  Francis  Wedgewood,  Esq.,  of 
Etruria,  son  of  Mr.  Josiah  Wedgewood. 

"May  21st,  ll99,  Gottingen. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  have  lying  by  my  side  six  huge  letters,  with  your  name  on 
each  of  them,  and  all,  excepting  one,  have  been  written  for  these 
three  months.  About  this  time  Mr.  Hamilton,  by  whom  I  send 
this  and  the  little  parcel  for  my  wife,  was,  as  it  were,  setting  off 
for  England ;  and  I  seized  the  opportunity  of  sending  them  by 
him,  as  without  any  mock-modesty  I  really  thought  that  the  ex- 
pense of  the  postage  to  me  and  to  you  would  be  more  than  their 
worth.  Day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  was  Hamilton  go- 
ing, and  still  delayed.  And  now  that  it  is  absolutely  settled  that 
he  goes  to-morrow,  it  is  likewise  absolutely  settled  that  I  shall  go 
this  day  three  weeks,  and  I  have  therefore  sent  only  this  and  the 
picture  by  him,  but  the  letters  I  will  now  take  myself,  for  I  should 
not  like  them  to  be  lost,  as  they  comprise  the  only  subject  on 
which  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  making  myself  thoroughly 
informed,  and  if  I  carry  them  myself,  I  can  carry  them  without 
danger  of  their  being  seized  at  Yarmouth,  as  all  my  letters  were, 

yours  to excepted,  which  were,  luckily,  not  sealed.     Before 

I  left  England,  I  had  read  the  book  of  which  you  speak.  I  must 
confess  that  it  appeared  to  me  exceedingly  illogical.  Godwin's 
and  Condorcet's  extravagancies  were  not  worth  confuting ;  and 


316  REMINISCENCES   OF 


yet  I  thought  that  the  Essay  on  '  Population*  had  not  confuted 
them.  Professor  Wallace,  Derham,  and  a  number  of  German 
statistic,  and  physico-theological  writers  had  taken  the  same 
ground,  namely,  that  population  increases  in  a  geometrical,  but 
the  accessional  nutriment  only  in  arithmetical  ratio — and  that  vice 
and  misery,  the  natural  consequences  of  this  order  of  things,  were 
intended  by  Providence  as  the  counterpoise.  I  have  here  no 
means  of  procuring  so  obscure  a  book,  as  Rudgard's  ;  but  to  the 
best  of  my  recollection,  at  the  time  that  the  Fifth  Monarchy  en- 
thusiasts created  so  great  a  sensation  in  England,  under  the  Pro- 
tectorate, and  the  beginning  of  Charles  the  Second's  reign,  Rud- 
gard,  or  Rutgard  (I  am  not  positive  even  of  the  name)  wrote  an 
Essay  to  the  same  purpose,  in  which  he  asserted,  that  if  war, 
pestilence,  vice,  and  poverty,  were  wholly  removed,  the  world 
could  not  exist  two  hundred  years,  &c.  Seiffmilts,  in  his  great 
work  concerning  the  divine  order  and  regularity  in  the  destiny  of 
the  human  race,  has  a  chapter  entitled  a  confutation  of  this  idea ; 
I  read  it  with  great  eagerness,  and  found  therein  that  this  idea 
militated  against  the  glory  and  goodness  of  God,  and  must  there- 
fore be  false, — but  further  confutation  found  I  none  ! — This  book 
of  Seiffmilts  has  a  prodigious  character  throughout  Germany ; 
and  never  methinks  did  a  work  less  deserve  it.  It  is  in  three 
huge  octavos,  and  wholly  on  the  general  laAvs  that  regulate  the 
population  of  the  human  species — but  is  throughout  most  un- 
philosophical,  and  the  tables,  which  he  has  collected  with  great 
industry,  prove  nothing.  My  objections  to  the  Essay  on  Popula- 
tion you  will  find  in  my  sixth  letter  at  large — but  do  not,  my  dear 
sir,  suppose  that  because  unconvinced  by  this  essay,  I  am  there- 
fore convinced  of  the  contrary.  No,  God  knows,  I  am  sufficiently 
sceptical,  and  in  truth  more  than  sceptical,  concerning  the  possi- 
bility of  universal  plenty  and  wisdom ;  but  my  doubts  rest  on 
other  grounds.  I  had  some  conversation  with  you  before  I  left 
England,  on  this  subject  ;  and  from  that  time  I  had  purposed  to 
myself  to  examine  as  thoroughly  as  it  was  possible  for  me,  the 
important  question — Is  the  march  of  the  human  race  progres- 
sive, or  in  cycles  ?     But  more  of  this  when  we  meet. 

What  have  I  done  in  Germany  ?     I  have  learned  the  language, 
both  high  and  low  German,  I  can  read  both,  and  speak  the  former 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  317 

SO  fluently,  that  it  must  be  a  fortune  for  a  German  to  be  in  my 
company,  that  is,  I  have  words  enough  and  phrases  enough,  and 
I  arrange  them  tolerably ;  but  my  pronunciation  is  hideous. 
2ndly,  I  can  read  the  oldest  German,  the  Frankish  and  the 
Swabian.  3rdly,  I  have  attended  the  lectures  on  Physiology, 
Anatomy,  and  Natural  History,  with  regularity,  and  have  endeav- 
ored to  understand  these  subjects.  4thly,  I  have  read  and  made 
collections  for  a  history  of  the  '  Belles  Lettres,'  in  Germany,  be- 
fore the  time  of  Lessing :  and  5thly,  very  large  collections  for  a 
'  Life  of  Lessing ;'  to  which  I  was  led  by  the  miserably  bad  and 
unsatisfactory  biographies  that  have  been  hitherto  given,  and  by 
my  personal  acquaintance  with  two  of  Lessing's  friends.  Soon 
after  I  came  into  Germany,  I  made  up  my  mind  fully  not  to  pub- 
lish anything  concerning  my  travels,  as  people  call  them ;  yet  I 
soon  perceived  that  with  all  possible  economy,  my  expenses  would 
be  greater  than  I  could  justify,  unless  I  did  something  that  w^ould 
to  a  moral  certainty  repay  them.  I  chose  the  *  Life  of  Lessing' 
for  the  reasons  above  assigned,  and  because  it  Avould  give  me  an 
opportunity  of  conveying  under  a  better  name  than  my  own  ever 
will  be,  opinions  which  I  deem  of  the  highest  importance.  Ac- 
cordingly, my  main  business  at  Gottingen,  has  been  to  read  all 
the  numerous  controversies  in  which  Lessing  was  engaged,  and 
the  works  of  all  those  German  poets  before  the  time  of  Lessing, 
which  I  could  not  afford  to  buy.  For  these  last  four  months,  with 
the  exception  of  last  week,  in  which  I  visited  the  Hartz,  I  have 
worked  harder  than  I  trust  in  God  Almighty,  I  shall  ever  have 
occasion  to  work  again  :  this  endless  transcription  is  such  a  body- 
and-soul-wearying  purgatory.  '  I  shall  have  bought  thirty  pounds' 
worth  of  books,  chiefly  metaphysics,  and  with  a  view  to  the  one 
work,  to  which  I  hope  to  dedicate  in  silence,  the  prime  of  my 
life  ;  but  I  believe  and  indeed  doubt  not,  that  before  Christmas  I 
shall  have  repaid  myself. 

I  never,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  felt  the  fear  of  death 
but  once  ;  that  was  yesterday  when  I  delivered  the  picture  to 
Hamilton.  I  felt,  and  shivered  as  I  felt  it,  that  I  should  not  like 
to  die  by  land  or  water  before  I  see  my  wife  and  the  little  one  ; 
that  I  hope  yet  remains  to  me.  But  it  was  an  idle  sort  of  feel- 
mg,  and  I  sffould  not  like  to  have  it  again.     Poole  half  men- 


318  REMINISCENCES   OF 


tioned,  in  a  hasty  way,  a  circumstance  that  depressed  my  spirits 
for  many  days  : — that  you  and  Thomas  were  on  the  point  of  set- 
thng  near  Stowey,  but  had  abandoned  it.  '  God  Almighty ! 
wliat  a  dream  of  happiness  it  held  out  to  me !'  writes  Poole.  I 
felt  disappointment  without  having  had  hope. 

In  about  a  month  I  hope  to  see  \you.  Till  then  may  heaven 
bless  and  preserve  us !  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  with  every 
feeling  of  love,  esteem,  and  gratitude. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Josiah  Wedge  wood,  Esq." 

*'  21,  Buckingham  Street,  Strand,  January,  1800. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  am  sitting  by  a  fire,  in  a  rug  great- coat.  Your  room  is 
doubtless  to  a  greater  degree  air-tight  than  mine,  or  your  notions 
of  Tartarus  would  veer  round  to  the  Grecnlander's  creed.  It  is 
most  barbarously  cold,  and  you,  I  fear,  can  shield  yourself  from 
it  only  by  perpetual  imprisonment.  If  any  place  in  the  southern 
climates  were  in  a  state  of  real  quiet,  and  likely  to  continue  sOj 
should  you  feel  no  inclination  to  migrate  ?  Poor  Southey,  from 
over  great  industry,  as  I  suspect,  the  industry  too  of  solitary 
composition,  has  reduced  himself  to  a  terrible  state  of  weakness, 
and  is  determined  to  leave  this  country  as  soon  as  he  has  finished 
the  poem  on  which  he  is  now  employed.  'Tis  a  melancholy  thing 
that  so  young  a  man,  and  one  whose  life  has  ever  been  so  simple 
and  self-denying,  ^  *  ^  ^  '* 

0,  for  a  peace,  and  the  south  of  France  !  I  could  almost 
wish  for  a  Bourbon  king,  if  it  were  only  that  Sieyes  and  Buona- 
parte might  finish  their  career  in  the  old  orthodox  way  of  hang- 
ing. Thank  God,  /  have  ony  health  perfectly,  and  I  am  working 
hard ;  yet  the  present  state  of  human  affairs  presses  on  me  for 
days^  together,  so  as  to  deprive  me  of  all  my  cheerfulness.  It  is 
probable  that  a  man's  private  and  personal  connections  and  inter- 
ests ought  to  be  uppermost  in  his  daily  and  hourly  thoughts,  and 
that  the  dedication  of  much  hope  and  fear  to  subjects  which  are 
perhaps  disproportionate  to  our  facuTties  and  powers,  is  a  disease. 
But  I  have  had  this  disease  so  long,  and  my  early  education  was 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  319 

so  undomestic,  that  I  know  not  Iioy/  to  get  rid  of  it ;  or  even  to 
wish  to  get  rid  of  it.  Life  v/ere  so  fiat  a  thing  without  enthusi- 
asm, that  if  for  a  moment  it  leaves  me,  I  have  a  sort  of  stomach 
sensation  attached  to  all  my  thoughts,  like  those  vjhich  succeed  to 
the  pleasitrahle  operations  of  a  dose  of  opium. 

Now  I  make  up  my  mind  to  a  sort  of  heroism  in  believing  the 
progressiveness  of  all  nature,  during  the  present  melancholy 
state  of  humanity,  and  on  this  subject  /  am  now  ivritinr/- ;  and  no 
work  on  which  I  ever  employed  myself  makes  me  so  happy  while 
I  am  writing. 

I  shall  remain  in  London  till  April.  The  expenses  of  my  last 
year  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  exert  my  industry,  and  manv 
other  good  ends  are  ansv/ered  at  the  same  time.  Where  I  next 
settle  I  shall  continue,  and  that  must  be  in  a  state  of  retirement 
and  rustication.  It  is  therefore  good  for  me  to  have  a  run  of 
society,  and  that,  various,  and  consisting  of  marked  characters. 
Likevvise,  by  being  obliged  to  v/rite  without  much  elaboration,  I 
shall  greatly  improve  myself  in  naturalness  and  facility  of  style, 
and  the  particular  subjects  on  which  I  write  for  money  are  nearly 
connected  with  my  future  schemes.  My  mornings  I  give  to  com- 
pilations which  I  am  sure  cannot  be  wholly  useless,  and  for 
Vv'hich,  by  the  beginning  of  April  I  shall  have  earned  nearly 
£150.  My  evenings  to  the  Theatres,  as  I  am  to  conduct  a  sort 
of  Dramaterye  or  series  of  Essays  on  the  Drama,  both  its  gen- 
eral principles,  and  likewise  in  reference  to  the  present  state  of 
the  English  Theatres.  This  I  shall  publish  in  the  *  Morning 
Post.'  My  attendance  on  the  theatres  costs  me  nothing,  and 
Stuart,  the  Editor,  covers  my  expenses  in  London.  Tv/o  morn- 
ings, and  one  whole  day,  I  dedicate  to  these  Essays  on  the  pos- 
sible progressiveness  of  man,  and  on  the  principles  of  population. 
In  April  I  retire  to  my  greater  works, — '  The  Life  of  Lessing.' 
My  German  chests  are  arrived,  but  I  have  them  not  yet,  but  ex- 
pect them  from  Stowey  daily ;  when  they  come  I  shall  send  a 
letter. 

I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  Godwin,  who  has  just  published  a 
Novel.  I  like  him  for  thinking  so  well  of  Davy.  He  talks  of 
him  everywhere  as  the  most  extraordinary  of  human  beings  he  had 
ever  met  with.     I  cannot  sav  that,  for  I  know  one  whom  I  feel 


320  REMINISCENCES   OF 

to  be  tlie  superior,  but  I  never  met  with  so  extraordinary  a  young 
man.  I  likewise  have  dined  with  Home  Tooke.  He  is  a  clear- 
headed old  man,  as  every  man  must  needs  be  avIio  attends  to  the 
real  import  of  w^ords,  but  there  is  a  sort  of  charlatanry  in  his 
manner  that  did  not  please  me.  He  makes  such  a  mystery  out 
of  plain  and  palpable  things,  and  never  tells  you  anything  with- 
out first  exciting,  and  detaining  your  curiosity.  But  it  were  a 
bad  heart  that  could  not  pardon  worse  faults  than  these  in  the 
author  of  '  The  Diversions  of  Purley.' 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  with  much  affection. 

Yours, 
Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

21,  Buckingham  Street,  Feb.  1800. 
*•  My  dear  Sir, 

Your  brother's  health  [Mr.  Thomas  Wedgewood]  outweighs 
all  other  considerations.  Beyond  a  doubt  he  has  made  him- 
self acquainted  with  the  degree  of  heat  which  he  is  to  experi- 
ence there  [the  West  Indies.]  The  only  objections  that  I  see  are 
so  obvious,  that  it  is  idle  in  me  to  mention  them  :  the  total  want 
of  men  wdth  whose  pursuits  your  brother  can  have  a  fellow 
feeling :  the  length  and  difficulty  of  the  return,  in  case  of  a  dis- 
appointment ;  and  the  necessity  of  sea- voyages  to  almost  every 
change  of  scenery.  I  will  not  think  of  the  yellow  fever ;  that  I 
hope  is  quite  out  of  all  probability.  Believe  me,  my  dear  friend, 
I  have  some  difficulty  in  suppressing  all  that  is  within  me  of 
affection  and  grief.  God  knows  my  heart,  wherever  your  brother 
is,  I  shall  follow  him  in  spirit ;  follow  him  with  my  thoughts  and 
most  affectionate  wishes. 

I  read  your  letter,  and  did  as  you  desired  me.    is  very 

cool  to  me.  V/h ether  I  have  still  any  of  the  leaven  of  the  Citi- 
zen, and  visionary  abgut  me — too  much  for  his  present  zeal,  or 
whether  he  is  incapable  of  attending.  ^^  %  %  hc 

As  to  his  views,  he  is  now  gone  to  Cambridge  to  canvas  for  ^  Fel- 
lowship in  Trinity  Hall.  Mackintosh  has  kindly  written  to  Dr. 
Lawrence,  who  is  very  intimate  with  the  Master,  and  he  has  other 
interest.  He  is  also  trying  hard,  and  in  expectation  of  a  Com- 
missionership  of  Bankruptcy,  and  means  to  pursue  the  law  with 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  321 


all  ardor  and  steadiness.  As  to  the  state  of  his  mind,  it  is  that 
which  it  was  and  will  be.  God  love  him  !  He  has  a  most  incur- 
able forehead.     called  on  him  and  looking  on  his  table, 

saw  by  accident  a  letter  directed  to  himself.     Said  he,   *Why 

what  letter  is  this  for  me  ?  and  from .'     •  Yes  I 

have  had  it  some  time.'  '  Why  did  you  not  give  it  me  ?  *  Oh, 
it  wants  some  explanation  first.     You  must  not  read  it  now,  for  I 

can't  give   you  the   explanation  now.'     And  ,  who  you 

know  is  a  right  easy-natured  man,  has  not  been  able  to  get  his 
own  letter  from  him  to  this  hour  !  Of  his  success  at  Cambridge, 
Caldwell  is  doubtful,  or  more  than  doubtful.  ^  *  ^ 

So  much  of .     All  that  I  know,  and  all  I  suspect  that  is 

to  be  known.  A  kind,  gentlemanl}^,  affectionate-hearted  man, 
possessed  of  an  absolute  talent  for  industry.  Would  to  God,  he 
had  never  heard  of  Philosophy  ! 

I  have  been  three  times  to  the  House  of  Commons  ;  each  time 
earlier  than  the  former ;  and  each  time  hideously  crowded.  The 
two  first  days  the  debate  was  put  off.  Yesterday  I  went  at  a 
quarter  before  eight,  and  remained  till  three  this  morning,  and 
then  set  writing  and  correcting*other  men's  writing  till  eiglH — a 
good  twenty-four  hours  of  unpleasant  activity  !  I  have  not  felt 
mself  sleepy  yet.  Pitt  and  Fox  completely  answered  my  pre- 
formed ideas  of  them.  The  elegance  and  higlf  finish  of  Pitt's 
periods,  e\^  in  the  most  sudden  replies,  is  curious,  but  that  is  all. 
He  argues  but  so  so,  and  does  not  reason  at  all.  Nothing  is  re- 
memberable  of  what  he  says.  Fox  possesses  all  the  full  and  over- 
flowing eloquence  of  a  man  of  clear  head,  clear  heart,  and  impet- 
uous feelings.  He  is  to  my  mind  a  great  orator ;  all  the  rest  that 
spoke  vrere  mere  creatures.  I  could  make  a  better  speech  my- 
self than  any  that  I  heard  except  Pitt  and  Fox.  I  reported  that 
part  of  Pitt's  which  I  have  enclosed  in  brackets,  not  that  I  report 
ex-officio,  but  my  curiosity  having  led  me  there,  I  did  Stuart  a 
ser\TLce  by  taking  a  few  notes. 

I  work  from  morning  to  night,  but  in  a  few  weeks  I  shall  have 
completed  my  purpose,  and  then  adieu  to  London  forever.  We 
newspaper  scribes  are  true  galley-slaves.  When  the  high  winds 
of  events  blow  loud  and  frequent  then  the  sails  are  hoisted,  or 
the  ship  drives  on  of  itself.     When  all  is  calm  and  sunshine  then 

14* 


322  REMINISCENCES   OF 

to  our  oars.  Yet  it  is  not  unflattering  to  a  man's  vanity  to  reflect 
that  what  he  writes  at  twelve  at  night,  will  before  twelve  hours 
are  over  have  perhaps,  five  or  six  thousand  readers  !  To  trace  a 
happy  phrase,  good  image,  or  new  argument,  running  through 
the  town  and  sliding  into  all  the  papers.  Few  wine  merchants 
can  boast  of  creating  more  sensation.  Then  to  hear  a  favorite  and 
often-urged  argument,  repeated  almost  in  your  own  particular 
phrases,  in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  and  quietly  in  the  silent  self- 
complacence  of  your  own  heart,  chuckle  over  the  plagiarism,  as 
if  you  were  monopolist  of  all  good  reasons.  But  seriously,  con- 
sidering that  I  have  newspapered  it  merely  as  means  of  subsist- 
ence, while  I  was  doing  other  things,  I  have  been  very  lucky. 
*The  New  Constitution ;'  'The  Proposal  for  Peace ;'  'The  Irish 
Union  ;'  &c.  &c. ;  they  are  important  in  themselves  and  excellent 
vehicles  for  general  truths.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  Vv^hat  I  have 
written. 

I  desired  Poole  to  send  you  all  the  papers  antecedent  to  your 
own ;  I  think  you  will  like  the  different  analyses  of  the  French 
constitution.  I  have  attended  Mackintosh's  lectures  regularly ; 
he  Ifeis  so  kind  as  to  send  me  a  ficket,  and  I  have  not  failed  to 
profit  by  it. 

I  remain,  with  grateful  and  most  affectionate  esteem, 

*  Your  faithful  Friend, 

S.  T.  (^.eridge. 

Josiah  Wedge  wood,  Esq." 

"July  24,  1800. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  find  your  letter  on  my  arrival  at  Grasmere,  namely,  dated  on 
the  29th  of  June,  since  which  time  to  the  present,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  last  few  days,  I  have  been  more  imwell  than  I  have 
ever  been  since  I  left  school.  For  many  daj^s  I  was  forced  to 
keep  my  bed,  and  when  released  from  that  incarceration,  I 
suffered  most  grievously  from  a  brace  of  swollen  eyelids  and  a 
head  into  which,  on  the  least  agitation,  the  blood  was  felt  as  rush- 
ing in  and  flowing  back  again,  like  the  raking  of  the  tide  on  a 
coast  of  loose  stones.  However,  thank  God,  I  am  now  coming 
about  again. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  323 

That  Tom.  receives  such  pleasure  from  natural  scenery  strikes 
me  as  it  does  you.  The  total  incapability  which  I  have  found  in 
myself  to  associate  any  but  the  most  languid  feelings,  with  the 
God-like  objects  which  have  surrounded  me,  and  the  nauseous 
efforts  to  impress  my  admiration  into  the  service  of  nature,  has 
given  me  a  sympathy  with  his  former  state  of  health,  which  I 
nev^er  before  could  have  had.  1  wish,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
soul,  that  he  may  be  enjoying  similar  pleasures  Willi  those  which 
I  am  now  enjoying  with  all  that  newness  of  sensation  ;  that  A^olup- 
tuous  correspondence  of  the  blood  and  flesh  about  me  with  breeze 
and  sun-heat,  which  makes  convalescence  more  than  repay  one  for 
disease. 

I  parted  from  Poole  with  pain  and  dejection,  for  him,  and  for 
myself  in  him.  I  should  have  given  Stowey  a  decided  preference 
for  a  residence.  It  was  likewise  so  conveniently  situated,  that  I 
was  in  the  vray  of  almost  all  whom  I  love  and  esteem  But  there 
was  no  suitable  house,  and  no  prospect  of  a  suitable  house. 

*         ^'  ^^         These  things  would  have  weighed  as  noth- 

ing, could  I  have  remained  at  Stowey,  but  now  they  come  upon 
me  to  diminish  my  regret.  Add  to  this,  Poole's  determination  to 
spend  a  year  or  two  on  the  continent,  in  case  of  a  peace  and  his 
mother's  death.  God  in  heaven  bless  her !  I  am  sure  she  w411 
not  live  long.  This  is  the  first  day  of  my  arrival  at  Keswick. 
My  house  is  roomy,  situated  on  an  eminence,  a  furlong  from  the 
town ;  before  it  an  enormous  garden,  more  than  two-thirds  of 
which  is  rented  as  a  garden  for  sale  articles  ;  but  the  walks  are 
ours.  Completely  behind  the  house  are  shrubberies,  and  a  de- 
clivity planted  with  flourishing  trees  of  ten  or  fifteen  years' 
growth,  at  the  bottom  of  v/hich  is  a  most  delightful  shaded 
walk,  by  the  river  Greta,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length.  The 
room  in  which  I  sit  commands  from  one  window  the  Bassenth- 
waite  lake,  woods,  and  mountains.  From  the  apposite,  the  Der- 
wentwater  and  fantastic  mountains  of  Borrowdale.  Straight  be- 
fore is  a  wilderness  of  mountains,  catching  and  streaming  lights 
and  shadows  at  all  times.  Behind  the  house,  and  entering  into 
all  our  views,  is  Skiddaw. 

My  acquaintances  here  are  pleasant,  and  at  some  distance  is  Sir 
Guilfred  Lawson's  seat,  with  a  very  large  and  expensive  library, 


324  REMINISCENCES   OF 

to  which  I  have  every  reason  to  hope  that  I  shall  have  free  ac- 
cess. But  when  I  have  been  settled  here  a  few  days  longer,  I 
will  write  you  a  minute  account  of  my  situation.  Wordsworth 
lives  twelve  miles  distant.  In  about  a  year's  time  he  will  proba- 
bly settle  at  Keswick  likewise.  It  is  no  small  advantage  here, 
that  for  two-thirds  of  the  year  we  are  in  complete  retirement. 
The  other  third  is  alive  and  swarms  with  tourists  of  all  shapes, 
and  sizes,  and  characters.  It  is  the  very  place  I  would  recom- 
mend to  a  novelist  or  farce  writer.  Besides,  at  that  time  of  the 
year  there  is  always  hope  that  a  friend  may  be  among  the  num- 
ber and  miscellaneous  crowd,  whom  this  place  attracts.  So  much 
for  Keswick. 

Have  you  seen  my  translation  of  Wallenstein  ?  It  is  a  dull 
heavy  play,  but  I  entertain  hopes  that  you  will  think  the  lan- 
guage for  the  greater  part,  natural,  and  good  common-sense  Eng- 
lish ;  to  which  excellence,  if  I  can  lay  fair  claim  in  any  work  of 
poetry  or  prose,  I  shall  be  a  very  singular  writer,  at  least.  I  am 
now  working  at  my  '  Introduction  of  the  Life  of  Lessing,'  which 
I  trust  will  be  in  the  press  before  Christmas,  that  is,  the  '  Intro- 
duction,' which  will  be  published  first.     God  bless  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Josiah  Wedgewood,  Esq." 

"Keswick,  Nov.  1,  1800. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  would  fain  believe  that  the  experiment  which  your  brother  has 
made  in  the  West  Indies  is  not  wholly  a  discouraging  one.  If  a 
warm  climat-e  did  nothing  but  only  prevented  him  from  getting 
worse,  it  surely  evidenced  some  power ;  and  perhaps  a  climate 
equally  favorable  in  a  country  of  more  various  interest,  Italy,  or 
the  South  of  France,  may  tempt  your  brother  to  make  a  longer 
trial.  If  (disciplining  myself  into  silent  cheerfulness)  I  could  be 
of  any  comfort  to  him  by  being  his  companion  and  attendant,  for 
two  or  three  months,  on  the  supposition  that  he  should  wish  to 
travel,  and  was  at  a  loss  for  a  companion  more  fit,  I  would  go 
with  him  with  a  willing  affection.  You  will  easily  see,  my  dear 
friend,  that  I  say  this  only  to  increase  the  range  of  your  brother's 
choice — for  even  in  choosing  there  is  some  pleasure. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.   SOUTHEY. 


There  happen  frequently  little  odd  coincidences  in  time,  that 
recall  momentary  faith  in  the  notion  of  sympathies  acting  in  ab- 
sence. I  heard  of  your  brother's  return,  for  the  first  time,  on 
Monday  last,  the  day  on  which  your  letter  is  dated,  from  Stoddart. 
Had  it  rained  on  my  naked  skin,  I  could  not  have  felt  more 
strangely.  The  300  or  400  miles  that  are  between  us  seemed 
converted  into  a  moral  distance  ;  and  I  knew  that  the  whole  of 
this  silence  I  was  myself  accountable  for ;  for  I  ended  my  last 
letter  by  promising  to  follow  it  with  a  second  and  longer  one,  be- 
fore you  could  ansvy^er  the  first.  But  immediately  on  my  arrival 
in  this  country  I  undertook  to  finish  a  poem  which  I  had  begun, 
entitled  '  Christabel,'  for  a  second  volume  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads.' 
I  tried  to  perform  my  promise,  but  the  deep,  unutterable  disgust 
which  I  had  suffered  in  the  translation  of  the  accursed  Wallen- 
stein,  seemed  to  have  stricken  me  with  barrenness ;  for  I  tried 
and  tried,  and  nothing  would  come  of  it.  I  desisted  with  a  deeper 
dejection  than  I  am  willing  to  remember.  The  wind  from  the 
Skiddaw  and  Borrowdale  ay  as  often  as  loud  as  wind  need  be, 
and  many  a  walk  in  the  clouds  in  the  mountains  did  I  take ; 
but  ail  would  not  do,  till  one  day  I  dined  out  at  the  house  of  a 
neighboring  clergyman,  and  somehow  or  other  drank  so  much 
wine,  that  I  found  some  effort  and  dexterity  requisite  to  balance 
myself  on  the  hither  edge  of  sobriety.  The  next  day  my  verse- 
making  faculties  returned  to  me,  and  I  proceeded  successfully,  till 
my  poem  grew  so  long,  and  in  Wordsworth's  opinion  so  impres- 
sive, that  he  rejected  it  from  his  volume,  as  disproportionate  both 
in  size  and  merit,  and  as  discordant  in  its  character.  In  the  mean- 
time I  had  gotten  myself  entangled  in  the  old  sorites  of  the  old 
sophist — procrastination.  I  had  suffered  my  necessary  businesses 
to  accumulate  so  terribly,  that  I  neglected  to  write  to  any  one,  till 
the  pain  I  suffered  from  not  writing  made  me  waste  as  many  hours 
in  dreaming  about  it,  as  would  have  sufficed  for  the  letter- writing 
of  half  a  life.  But  there  is  something  besides  time  requisite  for  the 
writing  of  a  letter — at  least  with  me. 

My  situation  here  is  indeed  a  delightful  situation ;  but  I  feel 
what  I  have  lost — feel  it  deeply — it  recurs  more  often  and  more 
painfully  than  I  had  anticipated,  indeed,  so  much  so,  that  I  scarcely 
ever  feel  myself  impelled,  that  is  to  say,  pleasurably  impelled  to 


326  REMINISCENCES   OF 

write  to  Poole.  I  used  to  feel  myself  more  at  home  in  his  great 
windy  parlor  than  in  my  own  cottage.  We  were  well  suited  to 
each  other — my  animal  spirits  corrected  his  inclination  to  melan- 
choly ;  and  there  was  something  both  in  his  understanding  and  in 
his  affections,  so  healthy  and  manly,  that  my  mind  freshened  in 
his  company,  and  my  ideas  and  habits  of  thinking  acquired  day 
after  day  more  of  substance  and  reality.  Indeed,  indeed,  my  dear 
sir,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  I  wish 
it  were  as  easy  for  us  all  to  meet  as  it  was  when  you  lived  at  Up- 
cott.  Yet  when  I  revise  the  step  I  have  taken,  I  know  not  how 
I  could  have  acted  otherwise  than  I  did  act.  Everything  I  prom- 
ised myself  in  this  country  has  answered  far  beyond  my  expecta- 
tion. The  room  in  which  I  write  commands  six  distinct  land- 
scapes— the  two  lakes,  the  vale,  the  river  and  mountains,  and 
mists,  and  clouds  and  sunshine,  make  endless  combinations,  as  if 
heaven  and  earth  were  forever  talking  to  each  other.  Often  when 
in  a  deep  study,  I  have  walked  to  the  window,  and  remained  there 
looking  without  seeing ;  all  at-  once  the  lake  of  Keswick  and  the 
fantastic  mountains  of  Borrowdale,  at  the  head  of  it,  have  entered 
into  my  mind,  with  a  suddenness  as  if  I  had  been  snatched  out  of 
Cheapside,  and  placed  for  the  first  time,  in  the  spot  where  I  stood 
— and  that  is  a  delio'htful  feelincj — these  fits  and  trances  of  nov- 
elty  received  from  a  long-known  object.  The  river  Greta  flows 
behind  our  house,  roaring  like  an  untamed  son  of  the  hills,  then 
winds  round  and  glides  away  in  the  front,  so  that  we  live  in  a  pe- 
ninsula. But  besides  this  ethereal  eye-feeding  we  have  very  sub- 
stantial conveniences.  We  are  close  to  the  town,  where  we  have 
respectable  and  neighborly  acquaintance,  and  a  most  sensible  and 
truly  excellent  medical  man.  Our  garden  is  part  of  a  large  nur- 
sery garden,  which  is  the  same  to  us  and  as  private  as  if  the  whole 
had  been  our  own,  and  thus  too  we  have  delightful  walks  without 
passing  our  garden  gates.  My  landlord,  who  lives  in  the  sister 
house,  for  the  two  houses  are  built  so  as  to  look  like  one  great 
one,  is  a  modest  and  kind  man,  of  a  singular  character.  By  the 
severest  economy  he  raised  himself  from  a  carrier  into  the  pos- 
session of  a  comfortable  independence.  He  was  always  very 
fond  of  reading,  and  has  collected  nearly  500  volumes  of  our 
most  esteemed  modern  writers,  such  as  Gibbon,  Hume,  Johnson, 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  327 

(fee,  &c.  His  habits  of  economy  and  simplicity  remain  with  him, 
and  yet  so  very  disinterested  a  man  I  scarcely  ever  knew.  Lately, 
when  I  wished  to  settle  with  him  about  the  rent  of  our  house, 
he  appeared  much  affected,  told  me  that  my  living  near  him,  and 
the  having  so  much  of  Hartley's  company  were  great  comforts 
to  him  and  his  housekeeper,  that  he  had  no  children  to  provide 
for,  and  did  not  mean  to  marry ;  and  in  short,  that  he  did  not 
want  any  rent  at  all  from  me.  This  of  course  I  laughed  him  out 
of ;  but  he  absolutely  refused  to  receive  any  rent  for  the  first  half- 
year,  under  the  pretext  that  the  house  was  not  completely  fur- 
nished. Hartley  quite  lives  at  the  house,  and  it  is,  as  you  may 
suppose,  no  small  joy  to  my  wife  to  have  a  good,  affectionate, 
motherly  woman  divided  from  her  only  by  a  wall.  Eighteen 
miles  from  our  house  lives  Sir  Guilfred  Lawson,  who  has  a  princely 
library,  chiefly  of  natural  history — a  kind  and  generous,  but  weak 
and  ostentatious  sort  of  man,  who  has  been  abundantly  civil  to 
me.  Among  other  raree  shows,  he  keeps  a  wild  beast  or  two,  with 
some  eagles,  &c.  The  master  of  the  beasts  at  the  Exeter  'Change, 
sent  him  down  a  large  bear, — with  it  a  long  letter  of  directions, 
concerning  the  food,  (fee,  of  the  animal,  and  many  solicitations 
respecting  the  agreeable  quadrupeds*  which  he  was  desirous  to 
send  to  the  baronet,  at  a  moderate  price,  and  concluding  in  this 
manner  :  '  and  remain  your  honor's  most  devoted  humble  servant, 
J.  P.  Permit  me,  Sir  Guilfred,  to  send  you  a  buffalo  and  a  rhi- 
noceros.' As  neat  a  postscript  as  I  ever  heard — the  tradesman- 
like coolness  with  which  these  pretty  little  animals  occurred  to 
him  just  at  the  finishing  of  his  letter !  You  will  in  three  weeks 
see  the  letters  on  the  'Rise  and  Condition  of  the  German  Boors.' 
I  found  it  convenient  to  make  up  a  volume  out  of  my  journey,  (fee, 
in  North  Germany — and  the  letters  (your  name  of  course  erased) 
are  in  the  printer's  hands.  I  was  so*  weary  of  transcribing  and 
composing,  that  when  I  found  those  more  carefully  written  than 
the  rest,  I  even  sent  them  off  as  they  were.  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 
My  littlest  one  is  a  very  stout  boy  indeed.  He  is  christened 
by  the  name  of  '  Derwent,' — a  sort  of  sneaking  affection  you  see 
for  the  poetical  and  novelist,  which  I  disguised  to  myself  under 
the  show,  that  my  brothers  had  so  many  children  Johns,  Jameses, 
Georges,  (fee,  (fee,  that  a  handsome  christian-like  name  was  not 


328  REMINISCENCES   OF 

to  be  had  except  by  encroaching  on  the  names  of  my  Httle  nephews. 
If  you  are  at  Gunville  at  Christmas,  I  hold  out  hopes  to  myself 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  pass  a  week  with  you  there.  I  mentioned 
to  you  at  Upcott  a  kind  of  comedy  that  I  had  committed  to  writing 
in  part.     This  is  in  the  wind. 

Wordsworth's  second  vol.  of  the  *  Lyrical  Ballads/  will  I  hope, 
and  almost  believe,  afford  you  as  unmingled  pleasure  as  is  in  the 
nature  of  a  collection  of  very  various  poems  to  afford  to  one  individ- 
ual mind.  Sheridan  has  sent  to  him  too — requests  him  to  Avrite  a 
tragedy  for  Drury  Lane.  But  W.  will  not  be  diverted  by  any- 
thing from  the  prosecution  of  his  great  work. 

Southey's  '  Thalaba,'  in  twelve  books,  is  going  to  the  press. 

Remember  me  with  great  affection  to  your  brother,  and  present 
my  kindest  respects  to  Mrs.  Wedgewood.  Your  late  governess 
wanted  one  thing,  which  where  there  is  health  is  I  think  indis- 
pensable in  the  moral  character  of  a  young  person — a  light  and 
cheerful  heart.  She  interested  me  a  good  deal.  She  appears  to 
me  to  have  been  injured  by  going  out  of  the  common  way  without 
any  of  that  imagination,  which  if  it  be  a  Jack  o'  Lantern  to  lead 
us  that  out  way,  is  however,  at  the  same  time  a  torch  to  light  us 
whither  we  are  going.  A  whole  essay  might  be  written  on  the 
danger  of  thinking  without  images.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  sir, 
and  him  who  is  with  grateful  and  affectionate  esteem, 

Yours  ever, 
Josiah  Wedgewood.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

"Keswick,  Oct.  20,  1802. 
My  dear  Sir, 

This  is  my  birthday,  my  thirtieth.  It  will  not  appear  wonder- 
ful to  you,  when  I  tell  you,  that  before  the  arrival  of  your  letter, 
I  had  been  thinking  with  a  'great  weight  of  different  feehngs,  con- 
cerning you,  and  your  dear  brother,  for  I  have  good  reason  to  be- 
lieve, that  I  should  not  now  have  been  alive,  if  in  addition  to 
other  miseries,  I  had  had  immediate  poverty  pressing  upon  me. 
I  will  never  again  remain  silent  so  long.  It  has  not  been  alto- 
gether indolence,  or  my  habit  of  procrastination  which  have  kept 
me  from  writing,  but  an  eager  wish, — I  may  truly  say,  a  thirst 
of  spirit,  to  have  something  honorable  to  tell  you  of  myself. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  329 


At  present  I  must  be  content  to  tell  you  something  cheerful. 
My  health  is  very  muck  better.  I  am  stronger  in  every  respect, 
and  am  not  injured  by  study,  or  the  act  of  sitting  at  my  writing 
desk ;  but  my  eyes  suffer  if  at  any  time  I  have  been  intemperate 
in  the  use  of  candle  light.  This  account  supposes  another,  namely, 
that  my  ^lind  is  calm,  and  more  at  ense.  My  dear  sir,  when  I 
was  last  with  you  at  Stowey,  my  heart  was  often  full,  and  I  could 
scarcely  keep  from  communicating  to  you  the  tale  of  my  dis- 
tresses, but  could  I  add  to  your  depression,  when  you  were  low  ? 
or  how  interrupt,  or  cast  a  shade  on  j^our  good  spirits,  that  were 
so  rare,  and  so  precious  to  you  ? 
^  %  -v  '^  ^-  ^  ^  ^ 

I  found  no  comfort  but  in  the  direct  speculations  ; — in  the  '  Ode 
to  Dejection,'  which  you  were  pleased  with.  These  lines,  in  the 
Original,  followed  the  line  '  My  shaping  spirit  of  imagination,' — 

'  For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel, 
But  to  be  still  and  patient,  all  I  can, 
And  haply  by  abstruse  research  to  steal 
From  my  own  nature  all  the  natural  man ; 
This  was  my  soul  resource,  my  only  plan 
And  that  which  suits  a  part  infests  the  whole. 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  temple  of  my  soul.' 

I  give  you  these  lines  for  the  spirit,  and  not  for  the  poetry. 

%  %  %  'I:  'It  ^  ^  % 

But  better  days  are  arrived,  and  are  still  to  come,  I  have  had 
visitations  of — that  I  may  yet  be  something  of  which  those  Avho 
love  me  may  be  proud. 

I  cannot  write  that  without  recalling  dear  Poole.  I  have  heard 
twice,  and  written  twice,  and  I  fear  by  a  strange  fatality,  one  of 
the  letters  will  have  missed  him.  Leslie^^  was  here  some  time 
ago.  I  was  very  much  pleased  with  him.  And  now  I  v/ill  tell 
you  what  I  am  doing.  I  dedicate  three  days  in  the  week  to  the 
*  Morning  Post,'  and  shall  hereafter  write,  for  the  far  greater  part, 
such  things  as  will  be  of  a  permanent  interest  as  anything  I  can 

*  The  eminent  Edinburgh  Professor.  For  three  years  the  private  tutor  of 
Mr.  T.  Wedgewood. 


330  REMINISCENCES    OF 

hope  to  write;  and  you  will  shoitly  see  a  little  essay  of  mine, 
justifying  the  writing  in  a  newspaper. 

My  compaxison  of  the  French  Avith  the  Roman  Empire  was  very 
favorably  received.  The  poetry  which  I  have  sent  is  merely  the 
emptying  out  of  my  desk.  The  epigrams  are  wretched  indeed, 
but  they  answered  Stewart's  purpose,  better  than  better  things. 
I  ought  not  to  have  given  any  signature  to  them  whatsoever.  I 
never  dreamt  of  acknowledging,  either  them,  or  the  Ode  to  the 
*  Rain.'  As  to  feeble  expressions,  and  unpolished  lines — there  is 
the  rub !  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  I  do  value  your  opinion  very 
highly.  I  think  your  judgment  in  the  sentiment,  the  imager}^ 
the  flow  of  a  poem,  decisive  ;  at  least  if  it  differed  from  my  own, 
and  if  after  frequent  consideration  mine  remained  different,  it 
vvould  leave  me  at  least  perplexed.  For  you  are  a  perfect  elec- 
trometer in  these  things — but  in  point  of  poetic  diction,  I  am  not 
so  well  satisfied  that  you  do  not  require  a  certain  aloofness  from 
the  language  of  real  life,  which  I  think  deadly  to  poetry. 

Yery  soon  however  I  shall  present  you  from  the  press  with  my 
opinions  full  on  the  subject  of  style,  both  in  prose  and  verse  ;  and 
I  am  confident  of  one  thing,  that  I  shall  "convince  you  that  I  have 
thought  much  and  patiently  on  the  subject,  and  that  I  understand 
the  whole  strength  of  my  antagonist's  cause.  For  I  am  now 
busy  on  the  subject,  and  shall  in  a  very  few  weeks  go  to  press 
with  a  volume  on  the  prose  v.ritings  of  Hall,  Milton,  and  Taylor ; 
and  shall  immediately  follow  it  up  with  an  essay  on  the  writings  of 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Gibbon,  and  in  these  two  volumes  I  flatter  my- 
self I  shall  present  a  fair  history  of  English  Prose.  If  my  life 
and  health  remain,  and  I  do  but  write  half  as  much,  and  as  regu- 
larly as  I  have  done  during  the  last  six  weeks,  this  will  be  finished 
by  January  next ;  and  I  shall  then  put  together  my  memorandum 
book  on  the  subject  of  Poetry.  In  both  I  have  endeavored  sed- 
ulously to  state  the  facts  and  the  differences  clearly  and  accu- 
rately ;  and  my  reasons  for  the  preference  of  one  style  to  another 
ai:e  secondary  to  thii. 

Of  this  be  assured,  that  I  will  never  give  anything  to  the 
world  in  proprim  personce.  in  my  own  name  which  I  have  not  tor- 
mented with  the  file.  I  sometimes  suspect  that  my  foul  copy 
vvould  often  appear  to  general  readers  more  polished  than  my  fair 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  331 


copy.  Many  of  the  feeble  and  colloquial  expressions  have  been 
mdustriously  substituted  for  others  which  struck  me  as  artificial, 
and  not  standing  the  test ;  as  being  neither  the  language  of  pas- 
sion, nor  distinct  conceptions.  Dear  sir,  indulge  nie  with  looking 
still  further  on  in  my  literary  life. 

I  have,  since  my  twentieth  year,  meditated  an  heroic  poem  on 
the  '  Siege  of  Jerusalem,'  by  Titus.  This  is  the  pride  and  the 
stronghold  of  my  hope,  but  I  never  think  of  it  except  in  my  best 
moods.  The  v\^ork  to  which  I  dedicate  the  ensuing  years  of  my 
life,  is  one  which  highly  pleased  Leslie,  in  prospective,  and  my 
paper  will  not  let  me  prattle  to  you  about  it.  I  have  written 
what  you  more  wished  me  to  write,  all  about  myself. 

Our  climate  (in  the  north)  is  inclement,  and  our  houses  not  as 
compact  as  they  might  be,  but  it  is  a  stirring  climate,  and  the 
worse  the  weather,  the  more  unceasingly  entertaining  are  my 
study  windows,  and  the  month  that  is  to  come  is  the  glory  of  the 
year  with  us.  A  very  warm  bedroom  I  can  promise  you,  and  one 
at  the  same  time  Avhich  commands  the  finest  lake  and  mountain 
view.  If  Leslie  could  not  go  abroad  v/ith  you,  and  I  could  in 
any  Ava}"  mould  my  manners  and  habits  to  suit  you,  I  should  of 
all  things  like  to  be  your  companion.  Good-nature,  an  affection- 
ate disposition,  and  so  thorough  a  sympathy  with  the  nature  of 
your  complaint,  that  I  should  feel  no  pain,  not  the  most  momen- 
tary, at  being  told  by  you  what  your  feelings  require  at  the  time 
in  which  they  required  it ;  this  I  should  bring  vfith  me.  But  I 
need  not  say  that  you  may  say  to  me, — '  You  don't  suit  me,' 
without  inllictinoc  the  least  mortification.  Of  course  this  letter  is 
for  your  brother  as  for  you ;  but  I  shall  write  to  him  soon.  God 
bless  you. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Thomas  Wedge  wood,  Esq." 

"Keswick,  November  3,  1802. 
Dear  Wedge  wood. 

It  is  now  two  hours  since  I  received  your  letter ;  and  after  the 

necessary  consultation,  Mrs.  Coleridge  herself  is  fully  of  opinion 

that  to  lose  time  is  'merely  to  lose  spirits.     Accordingly  I  have 

^  resolved  not  to  look  the  children  in  the  face,  (the  parting  from 


332  REMINISCENCES   OF 

whom  is  the  downright  bitter  in  the  thing,)  but  to  go  to  London 
by  to-morrow's  mail.  Of  course  I  shall  be  in  London,  God  per- 
mitting, on  Saturday  morning.  I  shall  rest  that  day,  and  the 
next,  and  proceed  to  Bristol  by  the  Monday  night's  mail.  At 
Bristol  I  will  go  to  Cote-House."^  At  all  events,  barring  serious 
illness,  serious  fractures,  and  the  et  cetera  of  serious  unforeseens, 
I  shall  be  at  Bristol,  Tuesday  noon,  November  9. 

You  are  aware  that  my  whole  knowledge  of  French  does  not 
extend  beyond  the  power  of  limping  slowly,  not  without  a  dic- 
tionary crutch,  or  an  easy  French  book :  and  that  as  to  pronuncia- 
tion, all  my  organs  of  speech,  from  the  bottom  of  the  larynx  to 
the  edge  of  my  lips,  are  utterly  and  naturally  anti- Galilean.  If 
only  I  shall  have  been  any  comfort,  any  alleviation  to  you,  I  shall 
feel  myself  at  ease — and  whether  you  go  abroad  or  no,  while  I 
remain  with  you,  it  vrill  greatly  contribute  to  my  comfort,  if  I 
know  you  will  have  no  hesitation,  nor  pain,  in  telling  me  what 
you  w^ish  m'e  to  do,  or  not  to  do. 

I  regard  it  among  the  blessings  of  my  life,  that  I  have  never 
lived  among  men  whom  I  regarded  as  my  artificial  superiors  :  that 
all  the  respect  I  have  at  any  time  paid,  has  been  v/holly  to  sup- 
posed goodness,  or  talent.  The  consequence  has  been  that  I 
have  no  alarms  of  pride  ;  no  cheval  de  frise  of  independence.  I 
have  always  lived  among  equals.  It  never  occurs  to  me,  even 
for  a  moment,  that  I  am  otherwise.  If  I  have  quarrelled  with 
men,  it  has  been  as  brothers,  or  as  school-fellovrs  quarrel.  How 
little  any  man  can  give  me,  or  take  from  me,  save  in  matters  of 
kindness  and  esteem,  is  not  so  much  a  thought  or  conviction  with 
me,  or  even  a  distinct  feeling,  as  it  is  my  very  nature.  Much  as 
I  dislike  all  formal  declarations  of  this  kind,  I  have  deemed  it 
well  to  say  this.  I  have  as  strong  feelings  of  gratitude  as  any 
man.  Shame  upon  me,  if  in  the  sickness  and  the  sorrow  which 
I  have  had,  and  which  have  been  kept  unaggravated  and  sup- 
portable by  your  kindness,  and  your  brother's  (Mr.  Josiah  Wedge- 
wood)  shame  upon  me  if  I  did  not  feel  a  kindness,  not  unmixed 
with  reverence  towards  you  both.  But  yet  I  never  should  have 
had  my  present  impulses  to  be  with  you,  and  this  confidence,  that 
I  may  become  an  occasional  comfort  to  you,  if,  independently  of 

*  Westbury,  near  Bristol,  the  then  residence  of  Mr.  John  Wedgewood,  Esq. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  333 


all  gratitude,  I  did  not  thoroughly  esteem  you ;  and  if  I  did  not 
appear  to  myself  to  understand  the  nature  of  your  sufferings; 
and  within  the  last  year,  in  some  slight  degree  to  have  felt  my- 
self, something  of  the  same. 

Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,  if  I  have  said  too  much.  It  is  better 
to  write  it  than  to  say  it,  and  I  am  anxious  in  the  event  of  our 
travelling  together  that  you  should  yourself  be  at  ease  with  me, 
even  as  you  would  with  a  younger  brother,  to  whom,  from  his 
childhood,  you  had  been  in  the  habit  of  saying,  *  Do  this  Col.'  or 
*  don't  do  that.'     All  good  be  with  you, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq. 

"Keswick,  January  9,  1803. 
My  dear  Wedgewood, 

I  send  you  two  letters,  one  from  your  dear  sister,  the  second 
from  Sharp,  by  which  you  will  see  at  what  short  notice  I  must  be 
off,  if  I  go  to  the  Canaries.  If  your  last  plan  continue  in  full 
force,  I  have  not  even  the  phantom  of  a  wish  thitherward  strug- 
gling, but  if  aught  have  happened  to  you,  in  the  things  without, 
or  in  the  world  within,  to  induce  you  to  change  the  place,  or  the 
plan,  relatively  to  me,  I  think  I  could  raise  the  money.  But  I 
would  a  thousand-fold  rather  go  with  you  whithersoever  you  go. 
I  shall  be  anxious  to  hear  how  you  have  gone  on  since  I  left  you. 
You  should  decide  in  favor  of  a  better  climate  somewhere  or 
other.  The  best  scheme  I  can  think  of,  is  to  go  to  some  part  of 
Italy  or  Sicily,  which  we  both  liked.  I  would  look  out  for  two 
houses.  Wordsworth  and  his  family  would  take  the  one,  and  I 
the  other,  and  then  you  might  have  a  home  either  with  me,  or  if 
you  thought  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Luff,  under  this  modification,  one 
of  your  own ;  and  in  either  case  you  would  have  neighbors,  and 
so  return  to  England  when  the  home  sickness  pressed  heavy  upon 
you,  and  back  to  Italy  when  it  was  abated,  and  the  climate  of 
England  began  to  poison  your  comforts.  So  you  would  have 
abroad  in  a  genial  climate,  certain  comforts  of  society  among  sim- 
ple and  enlightened  men  and  women  ;  and  I  should  be  an  allevia- 
tion of  the  pang  which  you  will  necessarily  feel,  as  often  as  you 
quit  yctUr  own  family. 


334  REMINISCENCES   OF 

I  know  no  better  plan :  for  travelling  in  search  of  objects  is  at 
best  a  dreary  business,  and  whatever  excitement  it  might  have 
had,  you  must  have  exhausted  it.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend. 
I  write  with  dim  eyes,  for  indeed,  indeed,  my  heart  is  v^ery  full 
of  affectionate,  sorrowful  thoughts  toward  you. 

I  write  with  difficulty,  with  all  the  fingers  but  one  of  my  right 
hand  very  much  swollen.  Before  I  was  half  up  the  Kirkstcme 
mountain,  the  storm  had  wetted  me  through  and  through,  and 
before  I  reached  the  top  it  was  so  wild  and  outrageous,  that  it 
would  have  been  unmanly  to  have  suffered  the  poor  vroman  (guide) 
to  continue  pushing  on,  up  against  such  a  torrent  of  wind  and 
rain :  so  I  dismounted  and  sent  her  home  with  the  storm  in  her 
back.  I  am  no  novice  in  mountain  mischiefs,  but  such  a  storm 
as  this  was,  I  never  witnessed,  combining  the  intensity  of  the  cold 
with  the  violence  of  the  wind  and  rain.  The  rain  drops  were  pelted 
or  slung  against  my  face  by  the  gusts,  just  like  splinters  of  flint, 
and  I  felt  as  if  every  drop  cut  my  flesh.  My  hands  were  all 
shrivelled  up  like  a  washerwoman's,  and  so  benumbed  that  I  was 
obliged  to  carry  my  stick  under  my  arm.  O,  it  was  a  wild  busi- 
ness !  Such  hurry  skurry  of  clouds,  such  volleys  of  sound  !  In 
spite  of  the  wet  and  the  cold,  I  should  have  had  some  pleasure  in  it, 
but  for  two  vexations  ;  first,  an  almost  intolerable  pain  came  into 
my  right  eye,  a  smarting  and  burning  pain  ;  and  secondly,  in  con- 
sequence of  riding  with  such  cold  water  under  my  seat,  extremely 
uneasy  and  burthensome  feelings  attacked  my  groin,  so  that,  what 
with  the  pain  from  the  one,  and  the  alarm  from  the  other,  I  had 
no  enjoyment  at  all  I 

Just  at  the  brow  of  the  hill  I  met  a  man  dismounted,  who 
could  not  sit  on  horse-back.  He  seemed  quite  scared  by  the  up- 
roar, and  said  to  me  with  much  feeling,  '  O  sir,  it  is  a  perilous 
buffeting,  but  it  is  worse  for  you  than  for  me,  for  I  have  it  at  my 
back.'  However,  I  got  safely  over,  and  immediately  all  was  calm 
and  breathless,  as  if  it  was  some  mighty  fountain  put  on  the  sum- 
mit of  Kirkstone,  that  shot  forth  its  A'olcano  of  air,  and  precipitated 
huge  streams  of  invisible  lava  down  the  road  to  Patterdale. 

I  went  on  to  Grasmere."*  I  was  not  at  all  unwell,  when  I 
arrived  there,  though  wet  of  course  to  the  skin.  My  right  eye 
*  The  then  residence  of  Mr.  Wordsworth.  • 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE  AND  R.  SOUTHEY.  335 

had  nothing  the  matter  with  it,  either  to  tiie  sight  of  others,  or 
to  my  own  feehngs,  but  I  had  a  bad  niglit,  with  distressful  dreams, 
chiefly  about  my  eye  ;  and  waking  often  in  the  dark  I  thought  it 
was  the  efiect  of  mere  recollection,  but  it  appeared  in  the  morning 
that  ray  right  eye  was  blood-shot,  and  the  lid  swollen.  That 
morning,  however,  I  walked  home,  and  before  I  reached  Keswick, 
my  eye  was  quite  well,  but  I  felt  iinioell  all  over.  Yesterday  I 
continued  unusually  unwell  all  over  me  till  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  I  took  no  laudanum  or  opium,  but  at  eight  o'clock, 
unable  to  bear  the  stomach  uneasiness,  and  achings  of  my  limbs, 
I  took  tv/o  large  tea-spoons  full  of  ether  in  a  wine-glass  of  cam- 
phorated gum-vrater,  and  a  third  tea-spoon  full  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
I  received  complete  relief ;  my  body  calm.ed  ;  my  sleep  placid ; — 
but  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  my  right  hand,  with  three  of 
the  fingers,  were  swollen  and  inflamed.  The  swelling  in  the  hand 
is  gone  down,  and  of  two  of  the  fingers  somewhat  abated,  but  the 
middle  finger  is  still  twice  its  natural  size,  so  that  I  write  with 
difficulty.  This  has  been  a  very  rough  attack,  but  though  I  am 
much  weakened  by  it,  and  look  sickly  and  haggard,  yet  I  am  not 
out  of  heart.  Such  a  bout ;  such  a  '  perilous  buffeting,'  was 
enough  to  have  hurt  the  health  of  a  strong  man.  Few  consti- 
tutions can  bear  to  be  long  wet  through  in  intense  cold.  I  fear  it 
will  tire  you  to-death  to  read  this  prolix  scrawled  story. 
Affectionately,  dear  friend,  yours  ever, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

^^:^^ovember  12,  1800. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  received  your  kind  letter,  with  the  twenty  pounds.  My  eyes 
are  in  such  a  state  of  inflammation  that  I  might  as  well  write 
blindfold,  they  are  so  blood-red.  I  have  had  leeches  twice,  and 
have  now  a  blister  behind  my  right  ear.  How  I  caught  the  cold 
in  the  first  instance,  I  can  scarcely  guess ;  but  I  improved  it  to  its 
present  glorious  state,  by  taking  long  walks  all  the  mornings,  spite 
of  the  wind,  and  writing  late  at  night,  while  my  ^y es  were  weak. 

I  have  made  some  rather  curious  observations  on  the  rising  up 
of  spectra  in  the  eye,  in  its  inflamed  state,  and  their  influence  on 
ideas,  &c.,  but  I  cannot  see  to  make  myself  intelligible  to  you. 


336  REMINISCENCES   OF 


Present  my  kindest  remembrance  to  Mrs.  W.  and  your  brother. 
Pray  did  you  ever  pay  any  particular  attention  to  the  first  time 
of  your  Httle  ones  smiling  and  laughing?  Both  I  and  Mrs.  C. 
have  carefully  watched  our  little  one,  and  noticed  down  all  the 
circumstances,  under  which  he  smiled,  and  under  Avhich  he 
laughed,  for  the  first  six  times,  nor  have  we  remitted  our  atten- 
tion ;  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  derive  the  least  confirmation  of 
Hartley's  or  Darwin's  Theory.  You  say  most  truly,  my  dear  sir, 
that  a  pursuit  is  necessary.  Pursuit,  for  even  praiseworthy 
employment,  merely  for  good,  or  general  good,  is  not  sufficient  for 
happiness,  nor  fit  for  man. 

I  have  not  at  present  made  out  how  I  stand  in  pecuniary  ways, 
but  I  believe  that  I  have  anticipated  on  the  next  year  to  the 
amount  of  Thirty  or  Forty  pounds,  probably  more.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  sir,  and  your  sincerely 

Affectionate  friend, 
Josiah  Wedgewood,  Esq.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

"Friday  night,  Jan.  14,  1803. 
Dear  Friend, 

I  was  glad  at  heart  to  receive  your  letter,  and  still  more  glad- 
dened by  the  reading  of  it.  The  exceeding  kindness  which  it 
breathed  was  literally  medicinal  to  me,  and  I  firmly  believe,  cured 
me  of  a  nervous  rheumatic  affection,  the  acid  and  the  oil,  very 
completely  at  Patterdale  ;  but  by  the  time  it  came  to  Keswick 
the  oil  was  all  atop. 

You"  ask  me,  *  Why,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  I  did  not  return 
when  I  saw  the  state  of  the  weather  ?'  The  true  reason  is  simple, 
though  it  may  be  somewhat  strange.  The  thought  never  once 
entered  my  head.  The  cause  of  this  I  suppose  to  be,  that  (I  do 
not  remember  it  at  l^ast)  I  never  once  in  my  whole  life  turned 
back  in  fear  of  the  weather.  Prudence  is  a  plant,  of  which  I  no 
doubt,  possess  some  valuable  specimens,  but  they  are  always  in 
my  hothouse,  never  out  of  the  glasses,  and  least  of  all  things 
would  endure  the  climate  of  the  mountains.  In  simple  earnest- 
nets,  I  never  find  myself  alone,  within  the  embracement  of  rocks 
and  hills,  a  traveller  up   an  Alpine  road,  but  my  spirit  careers, 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  337. 


drives,  and  eddies,  like  a  leaf  in  autumn;  a  wild  activity  of 
thoughts,  imaginations,  feelings,  and  impulses  of  motion  rises  up 
from  within  me ;  a  sort  of  bottom  wind,  that  blows  to  no  point 
of  the  compass,  comes  from  I  know  not  vfhence,  but  agitates  the 
whole  of  me ;  my  whole  being  is  filled  with  waves  that  roll  and 
stumble,  one  this  way,  and  one  that  way,  like  things  that  have  no 
common  master.  I  think  that  my  soul  must  have  pre-existed  in 
the  body  of  a  chamois-chaser.  The  simple  image  of  the  old  ob- 
jects has  been  obliterated,  but  the  feelings  and  impulsive  habits, 
and  incipient  actions  are  in  me,  and  the  old  scenery  awakens  them. 

The  further  I  ascend  from  animated  nature,  from  men,  and  cat- 
tle, and  the  common  birds  of  the  woods  and  fields,  the  greater 
becomes  in  me  the  intensity  of  the  feeling  of  life.  Life  seems  to 
me  then  an  universal  spirit,  that  neither  has,  nor  can  have  an  op- 
posite. *  God  is  everywhere,'  I  have  exclaimed,  and  works  every- 
where, and  where  is  there  room  for  death  ?  In  these  moments  it 
has  been  my  creed,  that  death  exists  only  because  ideas  exist ; 
that  life  is  limitless  sensation ;  that  death  is  a  child  of  the  organic 
senses,  chiefly  of  the  sight ;  that  feelings  die  by  flowing  into  the 
mould  of  the  intellect  becoming  ideas,  and  that  ideas  passing  forth 
into  action,  reinstate  themselves  again  in  the  world  of  life.  And  I 
do  believe  that  truth  lies  in  these  loose  generalizations.  I  do  not 
think  it  possible  that  any  bodily  pains  could  eat  out  the  love  of 
joy,  that  is  so  substantially  part  of  me,  toAvards  hills,  and  rocks, 
and  steep  waters  ;  and  I  have  had  some  trial. 

On  Monday  night  I  had  an  attack  in  my  stomach  and  right  side, 
which  in  pain,  and  the  length  of  its  continuance,  appeared  to  me 
by  far  the  severest  I  ever  had.  About  one  o'clock  the  pain  passed 
out  of  my  stomach,  like  lightning  from  a  cloud,  into  the  extremi- 
ties of  my  right  foot.  My  toe  swelled  and  throbbed,  and  I  was 
in  a  state  of  delicious  ease,  which  the  pain  in  my  toe  did  not  seem 
at  all  to  interfere  with.  On  Tuesday  I  was  uncommonly  well  all 
the  morning,  and  ate  an  excellent  dinner ;  but  playing  too  long 
and  too  rompingly  with  Hartley  and  Derwent,  I  was  very  unwell 
that  evening.  On  Wednesday  I  was  well,  and  after  dinner  wrap- 
ped myself  up  warm,  and  walked  with  Sarah  Hutchinson,  to  Lo- 
dore.  I  never  beheld  anything  more  impressive  than  the  wild 
outline  of  the  black  masses  of  mountain  over  Lodore,  and  so  on 

15 


338  REMINISCENCES   OF 


to  the  gorge  of  Borro^vdale.  Even  through  the  bare  twigs  of  a 
grove  of  birch  trees,  through  which  the  road  passes  ;  and  on 
emerging  from  the  grove  a  red  planet,  so  very  red  that  I  never 
saw  a  star  so  red,  being  clear  and  bright  at  the  same  time.  It 
seemed  to  have  sky  behind  it.  It  started,  as  it  were  from  the 
heavens,  like  an  eye-ball  of  fire.  I  wished  aloud  at  that  moment 
that  you  had  been  with  me. 

The  walk  appears  to  have  done  me  good,  but  I  had  a  wretched 
night ;  shocking  pains  in  my  head,  occiput,  and  teeth,  and  found 
in  the  morning  that  I  had  two  bloodshot  eyes.  But  almost  imme- 
diately after  the  receipt  and  perusal  of  your  letter  the  pains  left 
me,  and  I  am  bettered  to  this  hour  ;  and  am  now  indeed  as  well 
as  usual  saving  that  my  left  eye  is  very  much  blood-shot.  It  is  a 
sort  of  duty  with  me,  to  be  particular  respecting  parts  that  relate 
to  my  health.  I  have  retained  a  good  sound  appetite  through 
the  whole  of  it,  without  any  craving  after  exhilarants  or  narcotics, 
and  I  have  got  well  as  in  a  moment.  Rapid  recovery  is  constitu- 
tional with  me  ;  but  the  former  circumstances,  I  can  w4th  cer- 
tainty refer  to  the  system  of  diet,  abstinence  of  vegetables,  wine, 
spirits,  and  beer,  which  I  have  adopted  by  your  advice. 

I  have  no  dread  or  anxiety  respecting  any  fatigue  which  either 
of  us  is  likely  to  undergo,  even  in  continental  travelling.  Many 
a  healthy  man  would  have  been  laid  up  with  such  a  bout  of  thor- 
ough wet,  and  intense  cold  at  the  same  time,  as  I  had  at  Kirk- 
stone.  Would  to  God  that  also  for  your  sake  I  were  a  stronger 
man,  but  I  have  strong  wishes  to  be  with  you.  I  love  your 
society,  and  receiving  much  comfort  from  you,  and  believing  like- 
wise that  I  receive  much  improvement,  I  find  a  delight  very  great, 
my  dear  friend  !  indeed  it  is,  when  I  have  reason  to  imagine  that 
I  am  in  return  an  alleviation  to  your  destinies,  and  a  comfort  to 
you.  I  have  no  fears  and  am  ready  to  leave  home  at  a  two  days' 
warning.  For  myself  I  should  say  two  hours,  but  bustle  and 
hurry  might  disorder  Mrs.  Coleridge.  She  and  the  three  children 
are  quite  well. 

I  grieve  that  there  is  a  lowering  in  politics.  The  '  Moniteur' 
contains  almost  daily  some  bitter  abuse  of  our  minister  and  parlia- 
ment, and  in  London  there  is  great  anxiety  and  omening.  I  have 
dreaded  war  from  the  time  that  the  disastrous  fortunes  of  the  ex- 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE  AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  339 

pedition  to  Saint  Domingo,  under  Le  Clerc,  was  known  in  France. 
Write  me  one  or  two  lines,  as  few  as  you  like. 

I  remain,  my  dear  Wedgewood,  with  most  affectionate  esteem, 
and  grateful  attachment, 

Your  sincere  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge.'' 
Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq." 

''  Nether  Stowey,  Feb.  10,  1803. 
Dear  Wedgewood, 

Last  night  Poole  and  I  fully  expected  a  few  lines  from  you. 
When  the  newspaper  came  in,  without  your  letter,  we  felt  as  if  a 
dull  neighbor  had  been  ushered  in  after  a  knock  at  the  door  which 
had  made  us  rise  up  and  start  forward  to  welcome  some  long  ab- 
sent fiiend.  Indeed  in  Poole's  case,  this  simile  is  less  over-swollen 
than  in  mine,  for  in  contempt  of  my  convictions  and  assurance  to 
the  contrary,  Poole,  passing  oft  the  Brummagem  coin  of  his  wishes 
for  sterling  reasons,  had  persuaded  himself  fully  that  he  should 
see  you  in  propria  persona.  The  truth  is,  we  had  no  right  to  ex- 
pect a  letter  from  you,  and  I  should  have  attributed  your  not 
writing  to  your  having  nothing  to  write,  to  your  bodily  dislike  of 
writing,  or,  though  with  reluctance,  to  low  spirits,  but  that  I  have 
been  haunted  with  the  fear  that  your  sister  is  worse,  and  that  you 
are  at  Cote -House,  in  the  mournful  office  of  comforter  to  your 
brother.  God  keep  us  from  idle  dreams.  Life  has  enough  of  real 
pains. 

I  wrote  to  Captain  Wordsworth  to  get  me  some  Bang.  The 
captain  in  an  affectionate  letter  answers  me :  '  The  Bang  if  possi- 
ble shall  be  sent.  If  any  country  ship  arrives  I  shall  certainly 
get  it.  We  have  not  got  anything  of  the  kind  in  our  China  ships.' 
If  you  would  rather  wait  till  it  can  be  brought  by  Captain 
Wordsworth  himself  from  China,  give  me  a  line  that  I  may  write 
and  tell  him.  We  shall  hope  for  a  letter  from  you  to-night.  I 
need  not  say,  dear  Wedgewood,  how  anxious  I  am  to  hear  the 
particulars  of  your  health  and  spirits. 

Poole's  account  of  his  conversations,  &c.,  in  France,  are  very 
interesting  and  instructive.  If  your  inclination  lead  you  hither 
yd#would  be  very  comfortable  here.     But  I  am  ready  at  an 


340  REMINISCENCES   OF 


hour's  warning ;  ready  in  heart  and  mind,  as  well  as  in  body  and 
movables. 

I  am,  dear  Wedgewood,  most  truly  yours, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq." 

"Stowey,  Feb.  10,  1803. 
My  dear  Wedgewood, 

With  regard  to  myself  and  my  accompanying  you,  let  me  say 
thus  much.  My  health  is  not  worse  than  it  was  in  the  North ; 
indeed  it  is  much  better.  I  have  no  fears.  But  if  you  fear  that, 
my  health  being  what  you  know  it  to  be,  the  inconveniences  of 
my  being  with  you  will  be  greater  than  the  advantages,  (I  feel 
no  reluctance  in  telling  you  so,)  it  is  so  entirely  an  affair  of  spirits 
and  feeling  that  the  conclusion  must  be  made  by  you,  not  in  your 
reason,  but  purely  in  your  spirit  and  feeling.  Sorry  indeed  should 
I  be  to  know  that  you  had  gone  abroad  with  one,  to  whom  you 
were  comparatively  indifferent.  Sorry  if  there  should  be  no  one 
with  you,  who  could  with  fellow-feeling  and  general  like-minded- 
ness,  yield  you  sympathy  in  your  sunshiny  moments.  -  Dear 
Wedgewood^  my  heart  swells  vfithin  me  as  it  v^ere.  I  have  no 
other  wish  to  accompany  you  than  what  arises  immediately  from 
my  personal  attachment,  and  a  deep  sense  in  my  own  heart,  that 
let  us  be  as  dejected  as  we  will,  a  week  together  cannot  pass  in 
which  a  mind  like  yours  would  not  feel  the  want  of  affection,  or 
be  wholly  torpid  to  its  pleasurable  influences.  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  your  going  abroad  with  a  mere  travelling  companion  ; 
with  one  at  all  influenced  by  salary,  or  personal  conveniences. 
You  will  not  suspect  me  of  flattering  you,  but  indeed  dear 
Wedgewood,  you  are  too  good  and  too  valuable  a  man  to  deserve 
to  receive  attendance  from  a  hireling,  even  for  a  month  together, 
in  your  present  state. 

If  I  do  not  go  with  you,  I  shall  stay  in  England  only  such 
time  as  may  be  necessary  for  me  to  raise  the  travelling  money, 
and  go  immediately  to  the  south  of  France.  I  shall  probably 
cross  the  Pyrennees  to  Bilboa,  see  the  country  of  Biscay,  and 
cross  the  north  of  Spain  to  Perpignan,  and  so  on  to  the  north  of 
Italy,  and  pass  my  next  winter  at  Nice.     I  have  every  reasSrto 


S.   T.    COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  341 

believe  that  I  can  live,  even  as  a  traveller,  as  cheap  as  I  can  ia 
England.  God  bless  you.  I  will  repeat  no  professions,  even  in 
the  superscription  of  a  letter.  You  know  me,  and  that  it  is  my 
serious,  simple  wash,  that  in  everything  respecting  me,  you  would 
think  altogether  of  yourself,  and  nothing  of  me,  and  be  assured 
that  no  resolve  of  yours,  how^ever  suddenly  adopted,  or  however 
nakedly  communicated,  will  give  me  any  pain,  any  at  least  aris- 
ing from  my  own  bearings.  Yours  ever, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 
Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq. 

P.  S.     Perhaps  Leslie  will  go  with  you." 

"Poole's,  Feb.  17,  1803. 
My  dear  Wedgewood, 

I  do  not  know  that  I  have  anything  to  say  that  justifies  me  in 
troubling  you  with  the  postage  and  perusal  of  this  scrawl.  I  re- 
ceived a  short  and  kind  letter  from  Josiah  last  night.  He  is 
named  the  sheriff.  Poole,  who  has  received  a  very  kind  invitation 
from  your  brother  John,  in  a  letter  of  last  Monday,  and  which 
w'as  repeated  fti  last  night's  letter,  goes  w^ith  me,  I  hope  in  the 
full  persuasion  that  you  will  be  there  (at  Cote-House)  before  he 
be  under  the  necessity  of  returning  home.  Poole  is  a  very, 
very  good  man,  I  like  even  his  incorrigibility  in  little  faults  and 
deficiencies.  It  looks  like  a  wdse  determination  of  nature  to  let 
w^ell  alone. 

Are  you  not  laying  out  a  scheme  which  wdll  throw  your  travel- 
ing in  Italy,  into  an  unpleasant  and  unwholesome  part  of  the 
year?  From  ail  I  can  gather,  you  ought  to  leave  this  country  at 
the  first  of  April  at  the  latest.  But  no  doubt  you  know  these 
things  better  than  I.  If  I  do  not  go  with  you,  it  is  very  probable 
we  shall  meet  somewhere  or  other.  At  all  events,  you  wdll  know 
w^here  I  am,  and  I  can  come  to  you  if  you  wish  it.  And  if  I  go 
wuth  you,  there  will  be  this  advantage,  that  you  may  drop  me 
where  you  like,  if  you  should  meet  any  Frenchman,  Italian,  or 
Swiss,  vrhom  you  liked,  and  w^ho  would  be  pleasant  and  profitable 
to  you.     P>ut  this  we  can  discuss  at  Gunville. 

As  to  — ,  I  never  doubted  that  he  means  to  fulfil  his  en- 
gagements with  you,  but  he  is  one  of  those  weak-moralled  men. 


342  REMINISCENCES   OF 


with  whom  the  meaning  to  do  a  thing  means  nothing.  He  prom- 
ises with  ninety  parts  out  of  a  hundred  of  his  whole  heart,  but 
there  is  always  a  stock  of  cold  at  the  core  that  transubstantiates 
the  whole  resolve  into  a  lie. 

I  lemain  in  comfortable  health, — warm  rooms,  an  old  friend, 
and  tranquillity,  are  specifics  for  my  complaints.  With  all  my 
ups  and  downs  I  have  a  deal  of  joyous  feeling,  and  I  would  with 
gladness  give  a  good  part  of  it  to  you,  my  dear  friend.  God 
grant  that  spring  may  come  to  you  with  healing  on  her  wings. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  Wedgewood.  I  remain  with  most  af- 
fectionate esteem,  and  regular  attachment,  and  good  wishes, 

Yours  ever, 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq. 

P.  S.  If  Southey  should  send  a  couple  of  bottles,  one  of  the 
red  sulphate,  and  one  of  the  compound  acids  for  me,  will  you  be 
so  good  as  to  bring  them  with  you?" 

"Stowey,  Feb.  17,  1803. 
My  dear  Wedgewood, 

Last  night  I  received  a  four  ounce  parcel  letter,  by  the  post, 
which  Poole  and  I  concluded  was  the  mistake  or  carelessness  of 
the  servant,  who  had  put  the  letter  into  the  post  office,  instead  of 
the  coach  office.  I  should  have  been  indignant,  if  dear  Poole  had 
not  set  me  laughing.  On  opening  it,  it  contained  my  letter  from 
Gunville,  and  a  small  parcel  of  '  Bang,'  from  Purkis.  I  will  tran- 
scribe the  parts  of  his  letter  which  relate  to  it. 

*  Brentford,  Feb.  V,  1803. 
My  dear  Coleridge, 

I  thank  you  for  your  letter,  and  am  happy  to  be  the  means  of 
obliging  you.  Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  yours,  I  wrote  to 
Sir  Joseph  Banks,  who  I  verily  believe  is  one  of  the  most  excel- 
lent and  useful  men  of  this  country,  requesting  a  small  quantity 
of  Bang,  and  saying  it  was  for  the  use  of  Mr.  T.  Wedgewood.  I 
yesterday  received  the  parcel  which  I  now  send,  accompanied 
with  a  very  kind  letter,  and  as  part  of  it  will  be  interesting  to  you 
and  your  friend,  I  will  transcribe  it.     *  The  Bang  you  ask  for  is 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  343 


the  powder  of  the  leaves  of  a  kind  of  hemp  that  grows  in  the  hot 
climates.  It  is  prepared,  and  I  believe  used,  in  all  parts  of  the 
east,  from  Morocco  to  China.  In  Europe  it  is  found  to  act  very 
differently  on  different  constitutions.  Some  it  elevates  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  others  it  renders  torpid,  and  scarcely  ob^rvant  of  any 
evil  that  may  befall  them.  In  Barbary  it  is  always  taken,  if  it  can 
be  procured,  by  criminals  condemned  to  suffer  amputation,  and  it 
is  said  to  enable  those  miserables  to  bear  the  rough  operations 
of  an  unfeeling  executioner,  more  than  we  Europeans  can  the  keen 
knife  of  our  most  skilful  chirurgeons.  This  it  may  be  necessary 
to  have  said  to  my  friend  Mr.  T.  Wedgewood,  whom  I  respect 
much,  as  his  virtues  deserve,  and  I -know  them  well.  I  send  a 
small  quantity  only  as  I  possess  but  little.  If  hovv^ever,  it  is  found 
to  agree,  I  will  instantly  forward  the  whole  of  my  stock,  and  send 
vrithout  delay  to  Barbary,  from  whence  it  came,  for  more.' 

Sir  Joseph  adds,  in  a  postscript :  '  It  seems  almost  beyond  a 
doubt,  that  the  ^N'epenthe  was  a  preparation  of  the  Bang,  known 
to  the  Ancients.' 

l:Jo\v  I  had  better  take  the  small  parcel  with  me  to  Gunville  ; 
if  I  send  it  by  the  post,  besides  the  heavy  expense,  I  cannot  rely 
on  the  Stowey  carriers,  who  are  a  brace  of  as  careless  and  dis- 
honest rogues  as  ever  had  claims  on  that  article  of  the  hemp  and 
timber  trade,  called  the  gallows.  Indeed  I  verily  believe  that  if 
all  Stowey,  Ward  excepted,  does  not  go  to  hell,  it  will  be  by  the 
siuaererogation  of  Poole's  sense  of  honesty. — Charitable  ! 

we  will  have  a  fair  trial  of  Bang.  Do  bring  dov,ai  some  of  the 
Hyoscyamine  pills,  and  I  will  give  a  fair  trial  of  Opium,  Henbane, 
and  Nepenthe.  By-the-by  I  always  considered  Homer's  account 
of  the  Nepenthe  as  a  Banging  lie. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend,  and 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

'^Keswick,  September  16,  1803. 
My  dear  Wedgewood, 

I  reached  home  on  yesterday  noon.  William  Hazlitt  is  a  think- 
ing, observant,  original  man;  of  great  power  as  a  painter  of 
character-portraits,  and  far  more  in  the  manner  of  the  old  painters 


344  REMINISCENCES   OF 

than  any  living  artist,  but  the  objects  must  be  before  hira.  He 
has  no  imaginative  memory  ;  so  much  for  his  intellectuals.  His 
manners  are  to  ninety-nine  in  one  hundred  singularly  repulsive ; 
broAv-hanging  ;  shoe-contemplating — strange.  Sharp  seemed  to 
like  him,  but  ^arp  saw  him  for  only  half  an  hour,  and  that 
walking.  He  is,  I  verily  believe,  kindly  naturcd  :  is  very  fond  of, 
attentive  to,  and  patient  with  children,  but  he  is  jealous,  gloomy, 
and  of  an  irritable  pride.  With  all  this  there»is  much  good  in  him. 
He  is  disinterested ;  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  the  great  men  who 
have  been  before  us.  He  says  things  that  are  his  own,  in  a  way 
of  his  own :  and  though  from  habitual  shyness,  and  the  outside 
of  bearskin,  at  least  of  misanthrophy,  he  is  strangely  confused 
and  dark  in  his  conversation,  and  delivers  himself  of  almost  all 
his  conceptions  with  a  Forceps,  y^i  he  says  more  than  any  man  I 
ever  knew  (you  yourself  only  excepted)  that  which  is  his  own,  in 
a  w^ay  of  his  own  :  and  oftentimes  when  he  has  wearied  his  mind, 
and  the  juice  is  come  out,  and  spread  over  his  spirits,  he  will 
gallop  for  half  an  ho'jr  together,  with  real  eloquence.  He  sends 
well -feathered  thoughts  straight  forward  to  the  mark  with  a  twang 
of  the  bow-string.  If  you  could  recommend  him  as  a  portrait 
painter,  I  should  be  glad.  To  be  your  companion,  he  is,  in  my 
.  opinion,  utterly  unfit.     His  own  health  is  fitful. 

I  have  written  as  I  ought  to  do  :  to  you  most  freely.  You 
know  me,  both  head  and  heart,  and  I  will  make  what  deductions 
your  reasons  may  dictate  to  me.  I  can  think  of  no  other  person 
[for  your  travelling  companion] — what  wonder  ?  For  the  l^g^t 
years,  I  have  been  shy  of  all  new  acquaintance. 

'  To  lived  beloved  is  all  I  need, 
And  when  I  love,  I  love  indeed." 

I  never  had  any  ambition,  and  now,  I  trust  I  have  almost  as 
little  vanity. 

For  five  months  past  my  mind  has  been  strangely  shut  up.  I 
have  taken  the  paper  with  the  intention  to  write  to  you  many 
times,  but  it  has  been  one  blank  feeling ; — one  blank  idealess 
feeling.  I  had  nothing  to  say  ; — could  say  nothing.  How  dearly 
I  love  you,  my  very   dreams   make  known   to  me.     I  will  not 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHEY.  345 

trouble  you  witli  the  gloomy  tale  of  my  health.  When  I  am 
awake,  by  patience,  employment,  effort  of  mind,  and  walking,  I 
can  keep  the  Fiend  at  arm's  length,  but  the  night  is  my  Hell ! — 
sleep  my  tormenting  Angel.  Three  nights  out  of  four  I  fall 
asleep,  struggling  to  lie  awake,  and  my  frequent  night-screams 
have  almost  made  me  a  nuisance  in  my  own  house.  Dreams  with 
me  are  no  shadows,  but  the  very  calamities  of  my  life.     *     ^     ^ 

In  the  hope  of  drawing  the  gout,  if  gout  it  should  be,  into  my 
feet,  I  walked  previously  to  my  getting  into  the  coach  at  Perth, 
263  miles,  in  eight  days,  with  no  unpleasant  fatigue  ;  and  if  I 
could  do  5^ou  any  service  by  coming  to  town,  and  there  were  no 
coaches,  I  would  undertake  to  be  with  you,  on  foot,  in  seven  days. 
I  must  have  strength  somewhere.  My  head  is  equally  strong  : 
my  hmbs  too  are  strong :  but  acid  or  not  acid,  gout  or  not  gout, 
something  there  is  in  my  stomach.  ^  ^  ^ 

To  diversify  this  dusky  letter,  I  v/ill  vrrite  an  Epitaph,  which  I 
composed  in  my  sleep  for  myself  while  dreaming  that  I  was  dy- 
ing.    To  the  best  of  my  recollection  I  have  not  altered  a  Avord. 

'  Here  sleeps  at  length  poor  Col.  and  without  screaming 
Who  died,  as  he  had  always  lived,  a  dreaming ; 
Shot  dead,  while  sleeping,  by  the  gout  within, 
Alone,  and  all  unknown,  at  E'nbro'  in  an  Inn.' 

It  was  Tuesday  night  last,  at  the  'Black  Bull,'  Edinburgh.  Yours, 
dear  Wedgewood,  gratefully,  and 

Most  affectionately, 
Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq.  S.  T.  Coleridge." 

*'  16,  Abingdon  Street,  Westminster,  Jan.,  1804. 
My  dear  Friend, 

Some  divines  hold,  that  with  God  to  think,  and  to  create,  are 
one  and  the  same  act.  If  to  think,  and  even  to  compose  had  been 
the  same  as  to  write  Vvith  me,  I  should  have  written  as  much  too 
much  as  I  have  written  too  little.  The  whole  truth  of  the  matter 
is,  that  I  have  been  very,  very  ill.  Your  letter  remained  four 
days  unread,  I  was  so  ill.  What  effect  it  had  upon  me  I  cannot 
express  by  words.  It  lay  under  my  pillow  day  after  day.  I 
should  have  written  forty  times,  but  as  it  often  and  often  happens 

15* 


346  REMINISCENCES    OF 


with  me,  my  heart  was  too  full,  and  I  had  so  much  to  say  that  I 
said  nothing.  I  never  received  a  delight  that  lasted  longer  upon 
me — '  Brooded  on  my  mind  and  made  it  pregnant/  than  (from) 
the  six  last  sentences  of  your  last  letter, — which  I  cannot  apolo- 
gize for  not  having  answered,  for  I  should  be  casting  calumnies 
against  myself.  For  the  last  six  or  seven  weeks,  I  have  both 
thought  and  felt  more  concerning  you,  and  relating  to  you,  than 
of  all  other  men  put  together. 

Somehow  or  other,  whatever  plan  I  determined  to  adopt,  my 
fancy,  good-natured  pander  of  our  wishes,  always  linked  you  on 
to  it ;  or  I  made  it  your  plan,  and  linked  myself  on.  I  left 
my  home,  December  20,  1803,  intending  to  stay  a  day  and  a  half 
at  Grasmere,  and  then  to  walk  to  Kendal,  whither  I  had  sent  all 
my  clothes  and  viatica  ;  from  thence  to  go  to  London,  and  to  see 
whether  or  no  I  could  arrange  my  pecuniary  matters,  so  as  leav- 
ing Mrs.  Coleridge  all  that  was  necessary  to  her  comforts,  to  go 
myself  to  Madeira,  having  a  persuasion,  strong  as  the  life  within 
me,  that  one  winter  spent  in  a  really  warm,  genial  climate,  would 
completely  restore  me.  Wordsworth  had,  as  I  may  truly  say, 
forced  on  me  a  hundred  pounds,  in  the  event  of  my  going  to  Ma- 
deira ;  and  Stewart  had  kindly  offered  to  befriend  me.  During 
the  days  and  affrightful  nights  of  my  disease,  when  my  hmbs 
were  swollen,  and  my  stomach  refused  to  retain  the  food — taken 
in  sorrow,  then  I  looked  with  pleasure  on  the  scheme  :  but  as  soon 
as  dry  frosty  weather  came,  or  the  rains  and  damps  passed  off, 
and  I  was  filled  with  elastic  health,  from  crown  to  sole,  then  the 
thought  of  the  weight  of  pecuniary  obligation  from  so  many  peo- 
ple reconciled  me  ;  but  I  have  broken  off  my  story. 

I  stayed  at  Grasmere  (Mr.  Wordsworth's)  a  month,  three-fourths 
of  the  time  bed-ridden  ; — and  deeply  do  I  feel  the  enthusiastic 
kindness  of  Wordsworth's  wife  and  sister,  who  sat  up  by  me,  one 
or  the  other,  in  order  to  awaken  me  at  the  first  symptoms  of  dis- 
tressful feeling ;  and  even  when  they  went  to  rest,  continued  often 
and  often  to  weep  and  watch  for  me  even  in  their  dreams.  I  left 
them  January  the  14th,  and  have  spent  a  very  pleasant  week  at 
Dr.  Crompton's,  at  Liverpool,  and  arrived  in  London,  at  Poole's 
lodgings,  last  night  at  eight  o'clock. 

Though  my  right  hand  is  so  much  swollen  that  I  can  scarcely 


S.    T.   COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  347 

keep  my  pen  steady  between  my  thumb  and  finger,  yet  my  stom- 
ach is  easy,  and  my  breathing  comfortable,  and  I  am  eager  to 
hope  all  good  things  of  my  health.  That  gained,  I  have  a  cheer- 
ing, and  I  trust  prideless  confidence  that  I  shall  make  an  active, 
and  perseverant  use  of  the  faculties  and  requirements  that  have 
been  intrusted  to  my  keeping,  and  a  fair  trial  of  their  height, 
depth,  and  width. ^  Indeed  look  back  on  the  last  four  months 
with  honest  pride,  seeing  how  much  I  have  done,  with  what  steady 
attachment  of  mind  to  the  same  subject,  and  under  what  vexa- 
tions and  son-ows,  from  without,  and  amid  what  incessant  suffer- 
ings. So  much  of  myself.  When  I  know  more,  I  will  tell  you 
more. 

I  find  you  are  still  at  Cote-house.  Poole  tells  me  you  talk  of 
Jamaica  as  a  summer  excursion.  If  it  were  not  for  the  voyage,  I 
would  that  you  would  go  to  Madeira,  for  from  the  hour  I  get  on 
board  the  vessel,  to  the  time  that  I  once  more  feel  England  be- 
neath my  feet,  I  am  as  certain  as  past  and  present  experience  can 
make  me,  that  I  shalfbe  in  health,  in  high  health ;  and  then  I  am 
sure,  not  only  that  I  should  be  a  comfort  to  you,  but  that  I  should 
be  so  without  diminution  of  my  activity,  or  professional  usefulness. 

*  List  of  the  Works  and  Poems  which  Mr.  Coleridge  i7itended  to  write,  with 
the  pages  in  which  they  are  noticed. 


Page. 

Poem  on  the  Nativity  (300  hnes,)    49  Hist,  of  German  Belles  Lettras  .  317 

Plan  of  General  Study        .         .     49  Introduction  to  Lessing's  Life      .  317 

Pantisocracy,  4to.        .         •         •     55  Life  of  Lessing   .         .         .         .314 

17  other  works    ....     55  Progress  of  all  Nature         .         .  319 

2  Translations  of  Modern  Latin  Principles  of  Population      .         .  319 

Poets,  2  vols.  8vo.         .         .     55  Finishing  of  Christabel       .         .  325 

8  Sonnets 61  Letters  and  condition  of  German 

A  book  on  Morals,  in  answer  to  Boors 327 

Godwin        .         .         .         .76     A  Comedy 328 

Ob£ran  of  Wieland  (Trans.)       .  121  Essay  on  writing  in  Newspapers  330 

Ballad.     340  lines        .         .         .131  Essay  on  Style  in  Prose  and  Verse  330 

3  Works,  promised       .         .         .  218  Essay  on  Hall,  Milton,  and  Tay- 

New  Review       ....  228  lor 330 

Lectures  on  Female  Education   .  265  Essay  on  Johnstone  and  Gibbon   330 

Odes  on  the  different  sentences  Book  on  the  subject  of  Poetry     .  330 

of  the  Lord's  Prayer    .         .  288  Heroic  Poem   on   the   Siege  of 

Treatise  on  the  Corn  Laws         .  289  Jerusalem     .         .         .         .331 


348  REMINISCENCES   OF 

Briefly,  dear  Wedgewood  !  I  truly  and  at  heart  love  you,  and  of 
course  it  must  add  to  my  deeper  and  moral  happiness  to  be  with 
you,  if  I  can  be  either  assistance  or  alleviation.  If  I  find  myself 
so  well  that  I  defer  my  Madeira  plan,  I  shall  then  go  forthwith  to 
Devonshire  to  see  my  aged  mother,  once  more  before  she  dies,  and 
stay  two  or  three  months  with  my  brothers.^'  But,  wherever  I 
I  am,  I  never  suffer  a  day  (except  when  I  am  travelling)  to  pass 
without  doing  something. 

Poole  made  me  promise  that  I  would  leave  one  side  for  him, 
God  bless  him  !  He  looks  so  worshipful  in  his  office,  among  his 
clerks,  that  it  would  give  you  a  few  minutes'  good  spirits  to  look 
in  upon  him.  Pray  you  as  soon  as  you  can  command  your  pen, 
give  me  half  a  score  lines,  and  now  that  I  am  loose ,  say  whether 
or  no  I  can  be  any  good  to  you. 

8.  T.  Coleridge." 

*'  16,  Abingdon  Street,  Westminster,  Jan.  28,  1804. 
My  dear  Friend, 

It  is  idle  for  me  to  say  to  you,  that  my  heart  and  very  soul 
ache  with  the  dull  pain  of  one  struck  down  and  stunned.  I  write 
to  you,  for  my  letter  cannot  give  you  unmixed  pain,  and  I  would 
fain  say  a  few  words  to  dissuade  you.  What  good  can  possibly 
come  of  your  plan  ?  Will  not  the  very  chairs  and  furniture  of 
your  room  be  shortly  more,  far  more  intolerable  to  you  than  new 
and  changing  objects  !  more  insufferable  reflectors  of  pain  and 
weariness  of  spirit  ?  Oh,  most  certainly  they  will !  You  must 
hope,  my  dearest  Wedgewood ;  you  must  act  as  if  you  hoped. 
Despair  itself  has  but  that  advice  to  give  you.  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  trying  large  doses  of  opium,  a  hot  climate,  keeping 
your  body  open  by  grapes,  and  the  fruits  of  the  climate  ?)• 

Is  it  possible  that  by  drinking  freely,  you  might  at  last  produce 
the  gout,  and  that  a  violent  pain  and  inflammation  in  the  extrem- 

*  An  intention  not  fulfilled. 

t  Mr.  Thomas  Wedgewood  visited  the  continent  in  1803,  with  Mr,  Under- 
wood as  his  travelling  companion.  He  purposed  to  have  proceeded  to  the 
continent  in  1804 ;  but  his  disorders  increasing,  he  retired  to  his  seat,  near 
Bland  ford,  and  died  July  10,  1805,  aged  34.  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  vain,  recom- 
mended a  continental  journey. 

Josiah  Wedgewood,  Esq.,  died  July  13,  1843,  aged  74. 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEV.  349 

ities  might  produce  new  trains  of  motion  and  feeling  in  your  stom- 
ach, and  the  organs  connected  with  the  stomach,  known  and  un- 
known ?  Worse  than  what  you  have  decreed  for  yourself  cannot 
well  happen.  Say  but  a  word  and  I  will  come  to  you,  will  be 
with  you,  will  go  with  you  to  Malta,  to  Madeira,  to  Jamaica,  or 
(if  the  climate  of  which,  and  its  strange  effects,  I  have  heard 
wonders,  true  or  not)  to  Egypt. 

At  all  events,  and  at  the  worst  even,  if  you  do  attempt  to  re- 
alize the  scheme  of  going  to  and  remaining  at  Gunville,  for  God's 
sake,  my  dear,  dear  friend,  do  keep  up  a  correspondence  with  one 
or  more ;  or,  if  it  were  possible  for  you,  with  several.  I  know  by 
a  little  what  your  suffering  are,  and  that  to  shut  the  eyes,  and  stop 
up  the  ears,  is  to  give  one's  self  up  to  storm  and  darkness,  and  the 
lurid  forms  and  horrors  of  a  dream.  I  scarce  know  why  it  is ;  a 
feeling  I  have,  and  which  I  can  hardly  understand.  I  could  not 
endure  to  live  if  I  had  not  a  firm  faith,  that  the  life  within  you 
will  pass  forth  out  of  the  furnace,  for  that  you  have  borne  what 
you  have  borne,  and  so  acted  beneath  such  pressure — constitutes 
you  an  awful  moral  being.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  pray  aloud  for 
you.  Your  most  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

"March,  1804. 
My  dear  Friend, 

Though  fearful  of  breaking  in  upon  you  after  what  you  have 
written  to  me,  I  could  not  have  left  England  without  having  writ- 
ten both  to  you  and  your  brother,  at  the  very  moment  I  received 
a  note  from  Sharp,  informing  me  that  I  must  instantly  secure  a 
place  in  the  Portsmouth  mail  for  Tuesday,  and  if  I  could  not,  that 
I  must  do  so  in  the  light  coach  for  Tuesday's  early  coach. 

I  am  agitated  by  many  things,  and  only  write  now  because  you 
desired  an  answer  by  return  of  post.  I  have  been  dangerously 
ill,  but  the  illness  is  going  about,  and  not  connected  with  my  im- 
mediate ill  health,  however  it  may  be  with  my  general  constitution. 
It  was  the  cholera-morbus.  But  for  a  series  of  the  merest  acci- 
dents I  should  have  been  seized  in  the  streets,  in  a  bitter  east 
wind,  with  cold  rain ;  at  all  events  have  walked  through  it  strug- 
gling.    It  was  Sunday  night. 


350  REMINISCENCES   OP 


I  have  suffered  it  at  Tobiii's ;  Tobin  sleeping  out  at  Woolwich. 
No  fire,  no  wine  or  spirits,  or  medicine  of  any  kind,  and  no  person 
being  within  a  call,  but  luckily,  perhaps  the  occasion  would  better 
suit  the  word,  providentially,  Tuffin  calling,  took  me  home  with 
him.  *  *  *  J  tremble  at  every  loud  sound  I  my- 
self utter.  But  this  is  rather  a  history  of  the  past  than  of  the 
present.  I  have  only  enough  for  memento,  and  already  on  Wed- 
nesday I  consider  myself  in  clear  sunshine,  without  the  shadow  of 
the  wings  of  the  destroying  angel. 

What  else  relates  to  myself,  I  wdll  w^rite  on  Monday.  Would 
to  heaven  you  w^ere  going  with  me  to  Malta,  if  it  were  but  for  the 
voyage  !  With  all  other  things  I  could  make  the  passage  with  an 
unwavering  mind.  But  without  cheerings  of  hope,  let  me  mention 
one  thing  ;  Lord  Cadogan  ^YRS  brought  to  absolute  despair,  and 
hatred  of  life,  by  a  stomach  complaint,  being  now  an  old  man. 
The  symptoms,  as  stated  to  me,  were  strikingly  like  yours,  ex- 
cepting the  nervous  difference  of  the  two  characters ;  the  flitter- 
ing fever,  &c.  He  was  advised  to  reduce  lean  beef  to  a  pure  jelly, 
by  Pappin's  digester,  with  as  little  water  as  could  secure  it  from 
burning,  and  of  this  to  take  half  a  wine  glass  10  or  14  times  a  day. 
This  and  nothing  else.  He  did  so.  Sir  George  Beaumont  saw, 
within  a  few  weeks,  a  letter  from  himself  to  Lord  St.  Asaph,  in 
which  he  relates  the  circumstance  of  his  perseverance  in  it,  and 
rapid  amelioration,  and  final  recovery.  *I  am  now,'  he  says,  *in 
real  good  health ;  as  good,  and  in  as  cheerful  spirits  as  I  ever 
was  when  a  young  man.' 

May  God  bless  you,  even  here, 

S.  T.  Coleridge." 

Mr.  Coleridge,  in  the  preceding  letters,  refers  to  the  different 
states  of  his  health.  In  the  letter  dated  Jan.,  1800,  (p.  318.)  he 
observes,  "  I  have  my  health  perfectly ;"  and  in  the  same  letter 
he  clearly  indicates  that  he  was  no  stranger  to  opium,  by  remark- 
ing, "  I  have  a  stomach  sensation  attached  to  all  my  thoughts,  like 
those  which  succeed  to  the  pleasurable  operations  of  a  dose  of 
opium."  I  can  testify,  that  during  the  four  or  five  years  in  which 
Mr.  C.  resided  in  or  near  Bristol,  no  young  man  could  enjoy  more 


S.    T.    COLERIDGE   AND    R.    SOUTHEY.  351 


robust  health.  Dr.  Carlyon^^  also,  verbally  stated  that  Mr.  C. 
both  at  Cambridge,  and  at  Gottingen,  ''possessed  sound  health." 
From  these  premises  the  conclusion  is  fair,  that  Mr.  Coleridge's 
unhappy  use  of  narcotics,  which  commenced  thus  early,  was  the 
true  cause  of  all  his  maladies,  his  languor,  his  acute  and  chronic 
pains,  his  indigestion,  his  swellings,  the  disturbances  of  his  general 
corporeal  system,  his  sleepless  nights,  and  his  terrific  dreams ! 

Extracts,  concerning  Mr,  Coleridge,  from  letters  of  the  late 
Thomas  Poole,  Esq.  to  the  late  Thomas  Wedgewood,  Esq. 

''Stowey,  Nov.  14,  1801. 

*  *  ^  I  expect  Coleridge  here  in  a  week  or  ten 
days.  He  has  promised  to  spend  two  or  three  months  with  me. 
I  trust  this  air  will  re-establish  his  health,  and  that  I  shall  restore 
him  to  his  family  and  his  friends  a  perfect  man." 

''Stowey,  Nov.  24,  1801. 

*  *  ^  I  now  expect  daily  to  see  Coleridge.  He  is 
detained  I  fear,  by  a  thorn,  which  he  unfortunately  took  in  his 
heel  a  day  or  two  before  he  wrote  to  me  his  last  letter.  He 
comes  alone.     As  soon  as  he  is  here  he  shall  Avrite  to  you." 

"Stowey,  Nov.  27,  1799. 
^         ^         ^  Coledridge  went  hence  to  Bristol,  as  you 

know,  to  collect  material  for  his  '  School-book.'  (Qy.  There  he 
received  a  letter  concerning  Wordsworth's  health,  which  he  said 

*  Mr.  Coleridge,  when  at  the  University  of  Gottingen,  found  pleasant  Eng- 
lish society.  With  several  gentlemen  (students)  whom  he  there  met,  (Dr. 
Parry,  the  present  eminent  physician  of  Bath  ;  Dr.  Carlyon,  the  no  less  emi- 
nent physician  of  Truro  ;  Captain  Parry,  the  North  Pole  Navigator ;  and  Mr. 
Chester.)  They  together  made  an  excursion  to  the  Hartz  mountains.  Many 
striking  incidents  respecting  this  pedestrian  excursion  are  before  the  public,  in 
Mr.  C.'s  own  letters;  and  it  may  here  be  added,  Dr.  Carlyon  has  published  a 
work,  entitled  "  Early  Years  and  Late  Reflections,"  which  gives  among  other 
valuable  matter,  many  additional  particulars  connected  with  this  visit  to  the 
Brockhen,  as  well  as  interesting  notices  concerning  Mr.  Coleridge,  during  his 
residence  in  Germany.  Dr.  C.  has  more  recently  published  a  second  volume 
with  able  dissertations,  chiefly  on  Medical  Science. 


352  REMINISCENCES   OP 

agitated  him  deeply.     He  set  off  immediately  for  Yorkshire.     He 
has  since  been  to  the  lakes.     I  suppose  we  shall  soon  see  him. 

T.  P.'' 

"Stowey,  March  15,  1804. 

*  *  *  Coleridge  is  still  here  Avith  Tobin,  he  has 
taken  his  passage  for  Malta  and  paid  half  the  money,  so  I  con- 
clude his  going  is  fixed.  They  are  waiting  for  convoy — ^the  '  Lap- 
wing' frigate." 

T.  P." 

•'  16,  Abingdon  Street,  April  3,  1804. 
My  dear  Sir, 

^'  ^  ^  Poor  CoL  left  London,  as  I  suppose  you 
know,  and  is  now  at  Portsmouth,  waiting  for  convoy.  He  was 
in  a  miserable  state  of  health  when  he  left  town.  Heaven  grant 
that  this  expedition  may  establish  him,  body  and  mind.  North- 
cote  has  been  painting  his  picture  for  Sir  George  Beaumont.  I 
am  told  it  is  a  great  likeness.  Davy  is  gone  to  Hungerford  for 
the  holiday's  fishing.  ^'  *  * 

T.  Poole. 
T.  Wedgewood,  Esq." 

Mr.  Coleridge  remarks,  (p.  348,)  in  his  letter  to  Mr.  T.  Wedge- 
wood,  dated  16  Abingdon  Street,  London  :  "  Poole  looks  so  wor- 
shipful in  his  office  among  his  clerks,  that  it  would  give  you  a  few 
minutes'  good  spirits  to  look  in  upon  him."  The  following  letter 
will  explain  this  allusion. 

''  Stowey,  Sept.  14,  1803. 
My  dear  Sir, 

*  *  '^  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  kindness,  and 
I  will  tell  you  all  about  my  going  to  London.  I  became  ac- 
quinted  with  Rickman,  whom  you  saw,  when  you  set  off  from 
Cote-house  with  Coleridge  and  myself,  to  London,  to  hear  Davy's 
lectures  at  the  Royal  Institution.  It  was  last  January  twelve- 
months. I  liked  Rickman,  and  if  I  may  judge  from  his  conduct 
since,  he  liked  me.     I  saw  him  frequently  when  I  was  in  London 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.  SOUTHEY.  353 

in  May  and  June  last.  We  often  talked  about  the  poor  laws,  the 
sin  of  their  first  principle,  their  restraints,  their  contradictions, 
their  abuses,  their  encouragement  to  idleness,  their  immense  bur- 
dens to  those  who  pay,  and  their  degradation  to  those  who  re- 
ceive.    On  this  subject  also  some  letters  have  passed  between  us. 

I  have  long  imagined  that  the  principles  of  benefit  societies  may 
be  extended  and  modified,  so  as  to  remedy  the  greater  part  of 
those  evils,  and  I  have  long  had  a  plan  in  my  mind  which 
attempted  something  of  this  sort,  and  which  as  soon  as  I  had 
leisure  I  meant  to  detail  in  writing,  and  perhaps  to  pubhsh.  I 
mentioned  this  to  Coleridge  when  he  Avas  last  with  me.  He 
mentioned  it  to  Rickman,  who  wrote  to  me  on  the  subject. 

Soon  after  this  Sir  George  Rose  introduced  a  bill  into  parlia- 
ment for  obtaining  information  from  the  overseers  of  every  parish, 
concerning  the  poor,  benefit  societies,  &c.  He  applied  to  R.ick- 
man  to  assist  him  in  framing  the  bill  ;  and  finally  requested  him 
to  get  some  one  to  make  an  abstract,  to  present  to  pai^liament,  of 
the  returns  made  by  the  overseers.  This  office  Rickman  has  de- 
sired me  to  undertake.  He  states  to  me  a  variety  of  inducements  ; 
such  as  my  being  in  London,  getting  much  information  on  a  sub- 
ject which  interests  me,  and  in  short,  I  have  agreed  to  undertake 
it.  Rickman  says  it  will  take  me  three  months.  I  am  to  have 
eight  clerks  under  me,  or  more  if  I  can  employ  them.  He  says 
there  will  be  twenty  thousand  returns.  He  proposes  that  my 
expenses  should  be  paid  with  a  douceur  of  three  or  otherwise 
four  hundred  pounds.  I  stipulated  for  the  former,  but  told  him 
the  douceur  would  be  the  pleasure,  I  trusted,  of  being  useful  to 
the  poor.  ''  -^'  ''  T.  P." 

This  was  a  rare  instance  of  noble  disinterestedness,  especially 
in  respect  of  government  transactions. 

"  London,l6  Abingdon  Street,  May  24,  1804. 
I  saw  a  letter  this  morning  from  Coleridge.  It  was  written  to 
Lamb,  from  Gibraltar.  He  says  his  health  and  spirits  are  much 
improved,  yet  still  he  feels  alarming  symptoms  about  him.  Hq 
made  the  passage  from  England  in  eleven  days.  If  the  wind  per- 
mitted, they  were  to  sail  in  two  days  for  Malta.     He  says  he  is 


354  REMINISCENCES   OF 


determined  to  observe  n  strict  regimen,  as  to  eating  and  drinking. 
He  has  drunk  lately  only  lemonade,  with  a  very  small  quantity 
of  bottled  porter.  He  anticipates  better  health  than  he  has  en- 
joyed for  many  years. 

1  heard  by  accident  that  Giddy  Avas  at  Davy's.  1  have  not 
seen  Davy  for  some  time. 

T.  P." 

If  the  public  "  bide  tlieir  time,"  there  is  one  memorial,  resem- 
bhng  the  following,  which  will  infallibly,  if  not  soon,  be  attached 
to  the  busiest  and  the  most  celebrated  name. 

'•  On  Sept.  8,  1837,  at  Nether  Stowcy,  Somersetsliire,  Thomas  Poole,  Esq. 
He  was  one  of  the  magistrates  for  that  county,  the  duties  of  which  station  he 
discharged  through  a  long  course  of  years  with  distinguished  reputation.  Iji 
early  Hfe  the  deceased  was  intimately  associated  with  Coleridge,  Larnh,  Sir 
H.  Davy,  Wordsworth,  Southey.  and  other  men  of  literary  endowments,  who 
occasionally  made  long  sojournments  at  his  hospitable  residence,  and  in  whose 
erudite  and  philosophical  pursuits  he  felt  a  kindred  delight.  His  usefulness 
and  benevolence  have  been  long  recognized,  and  his  loss  will  be  deplored." — 
ExeUr  Paper. 

It  appears  that  in  the  spring  of  1816,  Mr.  Coleridge  left  Mr. 
Morgan's  house  at  Calne,  and  in  a  desolate  state  of  mind,  re- 
paired to  London  ;  v;hen  the  belief  remaining  strong  on  his  mind, 
that  his  opium  habits  would  never  be  effectually  subdued  till  he 
had  subjected  himself  to  medical  restraint,  he  called  on  Dr. 
Adams,  an  eminent  physician,  and  disclosed  to  him  the  whole  of 
his  painful  circumstances,  stating  what  he  conceived  to  be  his 
only  remedy.  The  doctor  being  a  humane  man,  sympathized 
with  his  patient,  and  knowing  a  medical  gentleman  who  resided 
three  or  four  miles  from  town,  who  would  be  likely  to  undertake 
the  charge,  he  addressed  the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Oilman. 

"  Hatton  Garden,  April  9,  1816. 
Dear  Sir, 

A  very  learned,  but  in  one  respect  an  unfortunate  gentleman,  has  applied 
to  me  on  a  singular  occasion.  He  has  for  several  years  been  in  the  habit  of 
taking  large  quantities  of  opium.  For  some  time  past  he  has  been  endeavor- 
ing to  break  himself  of  it.  It  is  apprehended  his  friends  are  not  firm  enough, 
Crom  a  dread,  lest  he  should  suffer  by  suddenly  leaving  it  off,  though  he  is 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.   SOUTHED.  355 

conscious  of  the  contrary  ;  and  has  proposed  to  me  to  submit  himself  to  any 
regimen,  however  severe.  With  this  view  he  wishes  to  fix  himself  in  the 
house  of  some  medical  gentleman,  who  will  have  courage  to  refuse  him  any 
laudanum,  and  under  whose  assistance,  should  he  be  the  worse  for  it,  he  may 
be  relieved.  As  he  is  desirous  of  retirement,  and  a  garden,  I  could  think  of 
no  one  so  readily  as  yourself  Be  so  good  as  to  inform  me  whether  such  a 
proposal  is  inconsistent  with  your  family  arrangements.  I  should  not  have 
proposed  it,  but  on  account  of  the  great  importance  of  the  character,  as  a 
literary  man.  His  communicative  temper  will  make  his  society  very  interest- 
ing, as  well  as  useful.  Have  the  goodness  to  favor  me  with  an  immediate 
answer,  and  believe  me,  dear  sir. 

Your  faithful  humble  servant, 

Joseph  Adams." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Coleridge  called  on  Mr.  Gillman,  who  was  so 
much  pleased  with  his  visitor,  that  it  was  agreed  he  should  come 
to  Highgate  the  following  day.  A  few  hours  before  his  arrival, 
he  sent  Mr.  G.  a  long  letter  ;  the  part  relating  to  pecuniary  af- 
fairs ^vas  the  following  : — "  With  respect  to  pecuniary  remunera- 
tion, allow  me  to  say,  I  must  not  at  least  be  suffered  to  make  any 
addition  to  your  family  expenses,  though  I  cannot  offer  anything 
that  would  be  in  any  way  adequate  to  my  sense  of  the  service; 
for  that  indeed  there  could  not  be  a  compensation,  as  it  must  be 
returned  in  kind  by  esteem  and  grateful  affection." 

This  return  of  esteem  and  o-rateful  affection  for  his  lodoino-  and 

o  o      o 

board,  w^as  generously  understood  and  acceded  to,  by  Mr.  Gill- 
man,  w^hicli  to  a  medical  man  in  large  practice,  was  a  small  con- 
sideration. Mr.  G.'s  admiration  of  Mr.  Coleridge's  talents  soon 
became  so  enthusiastic,  equally  creditable  to  both  parties,  that  he 
provided  Mr.  Coleridge  w4th  a  comfortable  home  for  nineteen 
years,  even  unto  his  death. 

My  original  intention  was,  to  prepare  a  memoir  as  a  contribu- 
tion to  Mr.  Gillman's  ''  Life  of  Mr.  Coleridge."  On  my  sending 
the  MS.  to  Mr.  Southey,  he  observes,  in  his  ^eply,  "I  apprehend 
if  you  send  what  you  have  written,  about  Coleridge  and  opium, 
it  will  not  be  made  use  of,  and  that  Coleridge's  biographer  will 
seek  to  find  excuse  for  the  abuse  of  that  drug." 

I  afterwards  sent  the  MS.  to  my  friend  Mr.  Foster,  w^io  had 
ever  taken  a  deep  interest  in  all  that  concerns  Mr.  Coleridge.  On 
retumincr  it  he  thus  wrote. 


356  REMINISCENCES   OF 


"  Stapleton,  Dec.  19,  1835. 
My  clear  Sir, 

I  have  read  through  your  MS.  volume,  very  much  to  the  cost  of  my  eyes, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  help  going  on,  and  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you 
for  favoring  me  with  it ; — the  more  so  as  there  is  no  seeing  any  large  propor- 
tion of  it  in  print.  It  is  I  think  aliout  as  melancholy  an  exhibition  as  I  ever 
contemplated.  Why  was  such  a  sad  phenomenon  to  come  in  sight  on  earth  ? 
Was  it  to  abase  the  pride  of  human  intellect  and  genius  1 

You  have  done  excellently  well  to  collect  into  a  permanent  substance  what 
must  else  have  gone  into  oblivion,  for  no  one  else  could  have  exhibited  even  a 
shadow  of  it.  But  now,  my  dear  sir,  I  hope  you  are  prepared  with  the  phi- 
losophy, or  by  whatever  name  I  should  designate  the  fortitude, — that  can  pa- 
tiently bear  the  frustration  of  the  main  immediate  purpose  of -your  long,  and 
earnest  labor.  For  you  may  lay  your  account  that  the  compiler  of  the  pro- 
posed life  of  Coleridge  will  admit  but  a  very  minor  part  of  what  you  have 
thus  furnished  at  his  request : — that  especially  he  will  not  admit  what  you 
feel  to  be  the  most  important,  as  an  emphatic  moral  lesson,  and  what  it  has 
cost  3^ou  the  most  painful  resolution  to  set  faithfully  forth. 

No,  my  dear  sir,  the  operator  of  the  work  will  not,  will  not,  will  not,  let  the 
illustrious  philosopher,  genius,  and  poet,  so  appear.  He  will  get  over  that 
stage  with  a  few  general  expressions,  and  a  few  indistinctly  presented  facts. 
And  then  as  to  the  dreadful  tragical  parts,  he  will  prom.ptly  decide,  that  it 
would  be  utter  profanation  to  expose  them  to  viev/  in  any  such  unveiled 
preminence  as  you  have  exhibited  in  your  narrative.  And  then  the  solemn 
warning  and  example  will  be  nearly  kept  out  of  sight.  Quite  naturally  that 
this  would  be  the  course  adopted,  unless  the  compiler  were,  like  yourself,  in- 
tent, as  his  first  and  highest  obligation,  on  doing  faithful  homage  to  truth, 
virtue,  and  religion.  How  I  despise  biography,  as  the  business  is  commonly 
managed.  I  cannot  believe  that  Coleridge's  dreadful  letters  of  confession  will 
be  admitted  in  their  own  unmodified  form  ;  though  they  ought  to  be. 

Most  truly  yours, 

John  Foster." 

These  combined  intimations  led  me  to  stipulate  that,  whatever 
else  was  omitted,  the  opium  letters  should  be  printed  verbatim. 
But  this  being  promptly  refused,  I  determined  to  throw  my  ma- 
terials into  a  separate  work. 

As  this  is  the  last  time  in  which  Mr.  Southey's  name  will  be 
mentioned,  it  is  a  debt  of  justice  to  subjoin  the  following  honor- 
able testimonials. 

As  an  evidence  of  the  estimation  in  which  Mr.  Southey  was 
held, — the  distinctions  awarded  to  his  memory  have  had  few  par- 
allels.    His    friends  at  Keswick,   among   whom   he  resided  for 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE   AND   R.    SOUTHEY.  357 

thirty  years,  erected  to  him  in  their  Church  a  noble  monument, 
as  a  permanent  memorial  of  their  respect.  His  friends,  in  Lon- 
don, placed  his  bust  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Whilst  another  set 
of  his  friends  in  Bristol  (his  native  city)  from  respect  to  his 
genius,  and  in  admiration  of  his  character,  placed  a  bust  of  him 
in  their  own  Cathedral. 

PRAYER    OF    S.    T.    COLERIDGE,    WRITTEN    IN    1831. 

Almighty  God,  by  thy  eternal  Word,  my  Creator,  Redeemer, 
and  Preserver  !  who  hast  in  thy  communicative  goodness  glorified 
me  with  the  capability  of  knowing  thee,  the  only  one  absolute 
God,  the  eternal  I  Am,  as  the  author  of  my  being,  and  of  desir- 
ing and  seeking  thee  as  its  ultimate  end ; — who  when  I  fell  from 
thee  into  the  mystery  of  the  false  and  evil  will,  didst  not  abandon 
me,  poor  self-lost  creature,  but  in  thy  condescending  mercy  didst 
provide  an  access  and  a  return  to  thyself,  even  to  the  Holy  One, 
in  thine  only  begotten  Son,  the  way  and  the  truth  from  everlast- 
ing, and  who  took  on  himself  humanity,  yea,  became  flesh,  even 
the  man  Christ  Jesus,  that  for  man  he  might  be  the  life  and  re- 
surrection ! — 0,  Giver  of  all  good  gifts,  who  art  thyself  the  only 
absolute  Good,  from  w^hom  I  have  received  whatever  good  I 
have,  whatever  capability  of  good  there  is  in  me,  and  from  thee 
good  alone, — from  myself  and  my  own  corrupted  will  all  evil,  and 
the  consequences  of  evil, — with  inward  prostration  of  will,  mind, 
and  affections  I  adore  thy  infinite  majesty ;  I  aspire  to  love  thy 
transcendent  goodness ! 

In  a  deep  sense  of  my  unworthiness,  and  my  unfitness  to  pre- 
sent myself  before  thee,  of  eyes  too  pure  to  behold  iniquity,  and 
whose  light,  the  beatitude  of  spirits  conformed  to  thy  will,  is  a 
consuming  fire  to  all  vanity  and  corruptions ; — but  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord  Jesus,  of  the  dear  Son  of  thy  love,  in  Avhose  perfect 
obedience  thou  deignest  to  behold  as  many  as  have  received  the 
seed  of  Christ  into  the  body  of  this  death  ; — I  offer  this  my 
bounden  nightly  sacrifice  of  praise  and  thanksgiving,  in  humble 
trust  that  the  fragrance  of  my  Saviour's  righteousness  may  re- 
move from  it  the  taint  of  my  mortal  corruption.  Thy  mercies 
have  followed  me  through  all  the  hours  and  moments  of  my  life ; 
and  now  I  hft  up  my  heart  in  awe  and  thankfulness  for  the  pres- 


358  REMINISCENCES  OP 

ervation  of  my  life  through  the  past  day,  for  the  alleviation  of 
my  bodily  sufferings  and  languors,  for  the  manifold  comforts 
which  thou  hast  reserved  for  me,  yea,  in  thy  fatherly  compassion 
hast  rescued  from  the  wreck  of  my  own  sins  or  sinful  infirmities ; 
— for  the  kind  and  affectionate  friends  thou  hast  raised  up  for  me, 
especially  for  those  of  this  household,  for  the  mother  and  mistress 
of  this  family,  whose  love  to  me  has  been  great  and  faithful,  and 
for  the  dear  friend  the  supporter  and  sharer  of  my  studies 
and  researches ;  but  above  all  for  the  heavenly  Friend,  the  cruci- 
fied Saviour,  the  glorified  Mediator,  Christ  Jesus,  and  for  the 
heavenly  Comforter,  source  of  all  abiding  comforts,  thy  Holy 
Spirit !  that  I  may  with  a  deeper  faith,  a  more  enkindled  love, 
bless  thee,  who  through  thy  Son  hast  privileged  me  to  call  thee 
Abba  Father  !  O  thou  who  hast  revealed  thyself  in  thy  word  as 
a  God  that  hearest  prayer  ;  before  whose  infinitude  all  differences 
cease,  of  great  and  small ;  who  like  a  tender  parent  foreknowest 
all  our  wants,  yet  listenest  well-pleased,  to  the  humble  petitions 
of  thy  children  ;  who  hast  not  alone  permitted,  but  taught  us  to 
call  on  thee  in  all  our  needs, — earnestly  I  implore  the  continuance 
of  thy  free  mercy,  of  thy  protecting  providence  through  the 
coming  night. 

Thou  hearest  every  prayer  offered  to  thee  believingly  with  a 
penitent  and  sincere  heart.  For  thou  in  withholding  grantest, 
healest  in  inflicting  the  wound,  yea,  turnest  all  to  good  for  as 
many  as  truly  seek  thee  through  Christ  the  Mediator  !  Thy  will 
be  done  !  But  if  it  be  according  to  thy  wise  and  righteous  or- 
dinances, O  shield  me  this  night  from  the  assaults  of  disease, 
grant  me  refreshment  of  sleep,  unvexed  by  evil  and  distempered 
dreams ;  and  if  the  purpose  and  aspiration  of  my  heart  be  upright 
before  thee  who  alone  knowest  the  heart  of  man,  0,  in  thy  mercy, 
vouchsafe  me  yet  in  this  my  decay  of  life,  an  interval  of  ease  and 
strength,  if  so — thy  grace  disposing  and  assisting — I  may  make 
compensation  to  thy  church  for  the  unused  talents  thou  hast  in- 
trusted to  me,  for  the  neglected  opportunities  which  thy  loving- 
kindness  had  provided.  0  let  me  be  found  a  laborer  in  thy  vine- 
yard, though  of  the  late  hour,  when  the  Lord  and  Heir  of  the 
vintage,  Christ  Jesus  calleth  for  his  servant 

S.  T.  C." 


S.   T.   COLERIDGE    AND   R.    SOUTHED.  359 

Mr.  Coleridge  wrote,  in  his  life-time,  his  own  epitaph  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Stop,  christian  passer-by:  stop,  child  of  God, 
And  read,  with  gentle  breast.     Beneath  this  sod 
A  poet  lies,  or  that  which  once  seemed  he — 
O,  lift  a  thought  in  prayer  for  S.  T.  C. 
That  he  who  many  a  year  with  toil  of  breath 
Found  death  in  life,  may  here  find  life  in  death ; 
Mercy  for  praise — to  be  forgiven  for  fome 
He  asked,  and  hoped  through  Christ.     Do  thou  the  same." 

A  handsome  tablet,  erected  in  Highgate  New  Church,  to  his 
memory,  bears  the  following  inscription  : — • 

"  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE, 

Poet,  Philosopher,  Theologian. 

This  truly  great  and  good  man  resided  for 

The  last  nineteen  years  of  his  life, 

In  this  Hamlet. 
He  quitted  '  the  body  of  his  death,' 

July  2.5th,  1834, 

In  the  sixty-second  year  of  his  age. 

Of  his  profound  learning  and  discursive  genius, 

His  literary  works  are  an  imperishable  record. 

To  his  private  worth. 

His  social  and  Christian  virtues, 

James  and  Ann  Gillman, 

The  friends  with  whom  he  resided 

During  the  above  period,  dedicate  this  tablet. 

Under  the  pressure  of  a  long 

And  most  painful  disease. 

His  disposition  was  unalterably  sweet  and  angelic. 

He  was  an  ever-enduring,  ever-loving  friend. 

The  gentlest  and  kindest  teacher,  * 

The  most  engaging  home-companion. 

*  Oh,  framed  for  calmer  times  and  nobler  hearts  ; 
O  studious  poet,  eloquent  for  truth ! 
Philosopher  contemning  wealth  and  death, 
Yet  docile,  child-like,  full  of  life  and  love.' 

Here, 

On  this  monumental  stone,  thy  friends  inscribe  thy  worth. 

Reader,  for  the  world  mourn. 


360  REMINISCENCES,   ETC. 


A  Light  has  passed  away  from  the  earth ! 

But  for  this  pious  and  exalted  Christian, 

'  Rejoice,  and  again  I  say  unto  you,  rejoice!'  " 

Ubi 

Thesaurus 

ibi 

Cor. 

S.  T.  C. 


APPENDIX. 


JOHN   HENDERSON. 

The  name  of  John  Henderson  having  appeared  in  several  parts  of  the 
preceding  memoir,  and  as,  from  his  early  death,  he  is  not  known  in  the  Lite- 
rary World,  I  shall  here  present  the  reader  with  a  brief  notice  of  this  extraor- 
dinary man,  (reduced  from  the  longer  account  which  appeared  in  my  "Mal- 
vern Hills,"  &c.) 

John  Henderson  was  born  at  Limerick, but  came  to  England  early  in  life 
with  his  parents.  From  the  age  of  three  years  he  discovered  the  presages  of 
a  great  mind.  Without  retracing  the  steps  of  his  progression,  a  general  idea 
may  be  formed  of  them,  from  the  circumstance  of  his  having  iprofeisionaUy 
TAUGHT  Greek  and  Latin  in  a  public  Seminary*  at  the  age  of  twelve  years. 

Some  time  after,  his  father  (a  man  of  expanded  heart  and  enhghtened 
understanding,  every  way  worthy  of  his  son)  commencing  a  Boarding-school 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Bristol,  young  Henderson  undertook  to  teach  the  clas- 
sics :  which  he  did  with  much  reputation,  extending,  at  the  same  tim.e,  his 
own  knowledge  in  the  sciences  and  general  literature,  to  a  degree  that  ren- 
dered him  a  prodigy  of  intelligence. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  by  an  intensity  of  application  of  which  few  persons 
can  conceive,  he  had  not  only  thoughtfully  perused  all  the  popular  English 
authors,  of  a  later  date,  but  taken  an  extensive  survey  of  foreign  literature. 
He  had  also  waded  through  the  folios  of  the  Schoolmen,  as  well  as  scruti- 
nized, with  the  minutest  attention,  into  the  more  obsolete  writers  of  the  last 
three  centuries ;  preserving,  at  the  same  time,  a  distinguishing  sense  of  their 
respective  merits,  particular  sentiments,  and  characteristic  traits ;  which,  on 
proper  occasions,  he  commented  upon,  in  a  manner  that  astonished  the 
learned  listener,  not  more  by  his  profound  remarks,  than  by  his  cool  and 
sententious  eloquence. 

So  surprisingly  retentive  was  his  memory,  that  he  never  forgot  what  he 
had  once  learned  ;  nor  did  it  appear  that  he  ever  suffered  even  an  image  to 
be  effaced  from  his  mind ;  whilst  the  ideas  which  he  had  so  rapidly  accumu- 
lated, existed  in  his  brain,  not  as  a  huge  chaos,  but  as  to  clear  and  well- 
organized  systems,  illustrative  of  every  subject,  and  subservient  to  every  call. 

*  Trevecka,  a  college  established  by  Lady  Huntingdon 
16 


3G2  ^    APPENDIX. 


It  was  this  quality  which  made  him  so  superior  a  disputant ;  for  as  his  mind 
had  investigated  the  various  sentiments  and  hypotheses  of  men,  so  had  his 
almost  intuitive  discrimination  stripped  tiiem  or  their  deceptive  appendages, 
and  separated  fallacies  from  truth,  marshalling  their  arguments,  so  as  to  eluci- 
date or  detect  each  other.  But  in  all  his  disputations,  it  was  an  invariable 
maxim  with  him  never  to  interrupt  the  most  tedious  or  confused  opponents, 
though,  from  his  pithy  questions,  he  made  it  evident,  thatj  from  the  first,  he 
anticipated  the  train  and  consequences  of  their  reasonings. 

His  favorite  studies  were.  Philology,  History,  Astronomy,  Medicine,  Tlie- 
ology.  Logic,  and  Metaphysics,  with  all  the  branches  of  Natural  and  Experi- 
mental Philosophy;  and  that  his  attainments  were  not  superficial,  will  be 
readily  admitted  by  those  who  knew  him  best.  As  a  Linguist,  he  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  Persian,  Arabic,  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin  languages ; 
together  with  the  French,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  German ;  and  he  not  only 
knew  their  ruling  principles  and  predominant  distinctions,  so  as  to  read  them 
with  facility,  but  in  the  greater  part  conversed  liuently. 

About  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  accidentally  met  v/ith  the  acute  and 
learned  Dr.  Tucker,  Dean  of  Gloucester,  in  a  stage-coach,  \yho  soon  discov- 
ered the  superiority  of  his  companion,  and  after  a  reasonable  acquaintance, 
in  which  the  opinion  he  had  at  first  entertained  of  John  Henderson's  surpris- 
ing genius  was  amply  confirmed,  he  wrote  to  his  father,  urging  him  to  send  a 
young  man  of  such  distinguished  talents  to  an  University,  where  only  they 
could  expand,  or  be  rightly  appreciated;  and,  in  the  most  handsome  way,  he 
accompanied  this  request  with  a  present  of  two  hundred  pounds.  Such  an 
instance  of  generosity  will  confer  lasting  credit  on  the  name  of  D.ean  Tucker. 

On  John  Henderson's  arrival  at  Oxford,  he  excited  no  small  degree  of  sur- 
prise among  his  tutors,  who  very  naturally  inquired  his  reason  for  appearing 
at  that  place,  and,  as  might  be  supposed,  were  soon  contented  to  learn,  where 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  teeich.* 

It  might  be  stated  also,  the  late  Edmund  Rack,  a  gentleman  possessed  of 
much  general  knowledge  and  antiquarian  research,  and  whose  materials  for 
the  "History  of  Somersetshire,"  formed  the  acknowledged  basis  of  Collinson's 
valuable  History  of  that  county,  thus  expressed  himself,  in  writing  to  a  friend 
in  London. 

"  My  friend,  Henderson,  has  lately  paid  me  a  |dsit,  and  staid  with  me  three 
weeks.  I  never  spent  a  three  weeks  so  happily,  or  so  profitably.  He  is  the 
only  person  I  ever  knew  who  seems  to  be  a  complete  master  of  every  subject 
in  literature,  arts,  sciences,  natural  philosophy,  divinity ;  and  of  all  the  books, 
ancient  and  modern,  that  engage  the  attention  of  the  learned  ;  but  it  is  still 
more  wonderful,  that  at  the  age  of  twelve,  he  should  have  been  master  of  the 
Latin  and  Greek;    to  which  he  subsequently  added  the  Hebrew,  ItaHan, 

'  After  John  Henderson's  acquaintance  and  friendship  had  been  matured  with  Dean 
Tucker,  he  informed  a  particular  friend,  the  Rev.  James  Newton,  "  that  whenever  he  was 
in  the  company  of  young  Henderson,  he  considered  himself  as  a  scholar  in  the  presence 
of  his  tutor."  The  late  Robert  Hall  also  well  knew  John  Henderson,  and  in  the  lattor 
part  of  his  life,  referring  to  him,  told  me  that  he  considered  John  Henderson  to  have  been 
a  prodigy,  and  that,  when  in  his  company,  he  always  considered  himself  as  a  pupil. 


APPENDIX.  363 


Spanish,  German,  Persian,  and  Syriac  languages ;  and  also  all  the  ancient 
rabbinical  learning  of  the  Jews,  and  the  divinity  of  the  fathers ;  this  was, 
however,  the  case.  The  learned  Dr.  Kennicott  told  me,  four  years  since, 
'  That  the  greatest  men  he  ever  knew  were  mere  children,  compared  to  Hen- 
derson.' In  Company  he  is  ever  new.  You  never  hear  a  repetition  of  what 
he  has  said  before.  His  memory  never  fails,  and  his  fund  of  knowledge  is 
inexhaustible." 

Dr.  Kennicott  (before  whom  nothing  superficial  could  have  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment) died  in  the  year  1783,  and  John  Henderson,  at  the  time  Dr.  K.  passed 
on  him  this  eulogium,  could  have  been  only  twenty-three  years  of  age  !  One 
year  after  he  had  entered  at  Oxford. 

Though  not  of  the  higher  order  of  attainments,  it  may  not  be  improper  to 
mention  his  singular  talent  for  Imitation.  He  could  not  only  assume  the 
dialect  of  every  foreign  country,  but  the  particular  tone  of  every  district  of 
England  so  perfectly,  that  he  might  have  passed  for  a  native  of  either :  and 
of  the  variations  of  the  human  accent  in  different  individuals,  his  recollection 
was  so  acute,  and  t];ie  modulation  of  his  voice  so  varied,  that,  having  once 
conversed  with  a  person,  he  could  most  accurately  imitate  his  gestures  and 
articulation  forever  after.*  » 

No  man  had  more  profoundly  traced  the  workings  of  the  human  heart  than 

himself     A  long  observation  on  the  causes  and  effects  of  moral  action,  with 

"  their  external  symbols,  had  matured  his  judgment  in  estimating  the  characters 

of  men,  and  from  the  fullest  evidence,  confirmed  him  in  a  belief  of  the  Science 

of  Physiognomy, 

Though  the  -'Physiognomical  Sensation,"  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  may 
exist  in  all,  yet  the  data  which  support  it  are  so  obscure,  and  at  all  times  so 
diflficult  to  be  defined,  that  if  nature  does  not  make  the  Physiognomist,  study 
never  will :  and  to  be  skilled  in  this  science  requires  the  combination  of  such 
rare  talents,  that  it  cannot  excite  wonder,  either  that  the  unskilful  should  fre- 
quently err,  or  that  the  multitude  should  despise,  what  they  know  they  can 
never  attain. 

But  John  Henderson's  discrimination  qualified  him  to  speak  of  all  persons, 
in  judging  from  their  countenances,  with  an  almost  infallible  certainty :  he 
discovered,  in  his  frequent  decisions,  not  an  occasional  development  of  char- 
acter, but  a  clear  perception  of  the  secondary  as  well  as  predominant  tenden- 
cies, of  the  mind, 

"  Making  his  eye  the  inmate  of  each  bosom." 

Coleridge. 

*  A  German  at  Oxford  was  once  much  frightened  by  coming  into  the  room  while  John 
Henderson  was  exercising  his  mimicry ;  for,  as  he  protested,  he  thought  he  heard  himself 
talking  at  a  distance.  No  person  needed  to  have  gone -out  of  Henderson's  company  to 
have  heard  and  almost  seen  Dr.  Johnson.  During  one  of  the  Doctor's  annual  visits  to 
Oxford,  Henderson  and  he  one  evening,  for  several  hours,  amused  those  around  them,  by 
conversing  expressly  in  hard  words.  It  was  generally  adm.itted  that  Jolm  Henderson 
discovered  the  greater  talent  at  this  verbal  forgery.  And  to  meet  the  Doctor  on  his  own 
ground,  \f  as  indeed  a  presumptuous  thing.  Their  conversations  in  Latin  (often  extending 
through  a  whole  evening)  were  deemed  si)lendid,  as  they  were  classically  chaste.     Dr. 


364  APPENDIX. 


It  would  appear  like  divination,  if  John  Henderson's  friends  were  to  state 
the  various  instances  they  have  known  of  that  quick  discernment  which  he 
possessed,  that,  as  it  were,  penetrated  the  veil  of  sense,  and  unfolded  to  him 
the  naked  and  unsophisticated  quahties  of  the  soul.  There  are  many  who 
will  cordially  admit  the  fact,  when  it  is  said,  that  his  eye  was  scarcely  the  eye 
of  a  man.  There  was  a  luminousness  in  it — a  calm  but  piercing  character, 
which  seemed  to  partake  more  of  the  nature  of  spirit  than  of  humanity. 

His  conversation  was  such  as  might  have  been  expected  from  a  man  whose 
fancy  was  so  creative,  whose  knowledge  omnifarious,  and  whose  recollection 
so  unbounded.  He  combined  scholastic  accuracy  with  unaffected  ease  ;  con- 
densed and  pointed,  yet  rich  and  perspicuous.  Were  it  possible  for  his  numer- 
ous friends,  by  any  energy  of  reminiscence,  to  collect  his  discourse,  John 
Henderson  would  be  distinguished  as  a  voluminous  author,  who  yet  preserved 
a  Spartan  frugality  of  words. 

His  contemporaries  at  Oxford  well  remember  the  enthusiasm  with  wliich 
every  company  received  him;  and  his  friends  in  that  University,  consisted 
of  all  who  were  eminent  for  either  talent  or  virtue. 

It  would  be  injustice  to  his  memory  not  to  mention  the  great  marks  of  at- 
tention which  were  paid  him,  and  the  high  estimation  in  which  he  was  held 
by  the  late  Edmund  Burke  and  Dr.  Johnson ;  the  former  of  whom  strenuously 
urged  him  either  to  apply  to  the  bar,  or  to  the  church,  and  told  him,  that,  in 
that  case,  it  was  impossible  to  doubt,  but  that  he  would  become  either  a  judge 
or  a  bishop.  Such  was  the  great  lexicographer's  admiration,  also,  of  John 
Henderson,  that  in  his  annual  visits  to  Oxford,  to  whatever  company  he  was 
invited,  he  always  stipulated  for  the  introduction  of  his  young  friend,  John 
Henderson,*  which,  in  the  result,  converted  a  favor  into  an  obUgation.  It 
might  be  named  also,  that  many  of  the  heads  of  colleges  and  other  eminent 
characters,  habitually  attended  his  evening  parties;  an  honor  unknown  to 
have  been  conferred  before  on  any  other  undergraduate. 

So  great  was  John  Henderson's  regard  for  truth,  that  he  considered  it  a 
crime,  of  no  ordinary  magnitude,  to  confound  in  any  one,  even  for  a  moment,  the 
perceptions  of  right  and  wrong ;  of  truth  and  falsehood ;  he  therefore  never 
argued  in  defence  of  a  position  which  his  understanding  did  not  cordially  ap- 
prove, unless  in  some  unbending  moment,  he  intimated  to  those  around  him, 
that  he  wished  to  see  how  far  error  could  be  supported,  in  which  case  he 
would  adopt  the  weakesst  side  of  any  question,  and  there,  intrenched,  like  an 
intellectual  veteran,  bid  defiance  to  the  separate  or  combined  attacks  of  all 
who  approached  him. 

On  these  occasions  it  was  highly  interesting  to  remark  the  felicity  of  his 
illustration,  together  with  his  profound  logical  acuteness,  that  knew  how  to 
grant  or  deny,  and  both,  it  may  be,  with  reference  to  some  distant  stage  of 
the  argument,  when  the  application  was  made  with  an  unexpected,  but  con- 
clusive effect. 

Adams,  it  was  said,  was  the  only  man  in  Oxford  who  approximated  toward  an  equalit>» 
with  John  Henderson  in  Latin  colloquisms. 
*  His  rooms,  at  Pembroke  College,  were  those  which  had  been  occupied  by  Dr.  Johnson. 


APPENDIX.  365 


From  possessing  this  rare  faculty  of  distinguishing  the  immediate,  as  well 
as  of  tracing  the  remote,  consequences  of  every  acknowledgment ;  and,  by 
his  peculiar  talent  at  casuistic  subtleties,  he  has  been  frequently  known  to  ex- 
tort the  most  erroneous  concessions,  from  men  distinguished  for  erudition  and 
a  knowledge  of  polemic  niceties,  necessarily  resulting  from  premises  unguard- 
edly admitted. 

Henderson's  chief  strength  in  disputation  seemed  to  consist  in  this  clear 
view  in  which  he  beheld  the  diversified  bearings  of  every  argument,  with  its 
precise  congruity  to  the  question  in  debate ;  and  which,  whilst  it  demonstrated 
the  capacity  of  his  own  mind,  conferred  on  him,  on  all  occasions,  a  decided 
and  systematic  superiority.  It  must,  however,  be  granted  that  when  contend- 
ing for  victory,  or  rather  for  the  mere  sharpening  of  his  faculties,  instead  of 
convinicng,  he  not  unfrequently  confounded  his  opponent ;  but  whenever  he 
had  thus  casually  argued,  and  had  obtained  an  acknowledged  confutation, 
lilie  an  ingenious  mechanic,  he  never  failed  to  organize  the  discordant  materi- 
als, and  to  do  homage  to  truth,  by  pointing  out  his  own  fallacies,  or  otherwise, 
by  formally  re-confuting  his  antagonist. 

It  might  be  expected  that,  by  such  a  conduct,  an  unpleasant  impression 
would  sometimes  be  left  on  the  mind  of  an  unsuccessful  disputant,  but  this 
effect  is  chiefly  produced  when  the  power  of  the  combatants  is  held  nearly  in 
equilibrium ;  no  one,  however,  considered  it  a  degradation  to  yield  to  John 
Henderson,  and  the  pecuhar  dehcacy  of  his  mind  was  manifested  in  nothing 
more  than  in  the  gracious  manner  with  which  he  indulged  in  these  corusca- 
tions of  argument.  He  obtained  a  victory  without  being  vain,  or  even,  from 
his  perfect  command  of  countenance,  appearing  sensible  of  it;  and,  unless  he 
happened  to  be  disputing  with  pedantry  and  conceit,  with  a  dignified  con- 
sciousness of  strength,  he  never  pursued  an  enemy  who  was  contented  to  fly, 
by  which  means  a  defeat  was  often  perceived  rather  than  felt,  and  the  van- 
quished forgot  his  own  humiliation  in  applauding  the  generosity  of  the  con- 
queror. 

In  all  companies  he  led  the  conversation  ;  yet  though  he  was  perpetually 
encircled  by  admirers,  his  steady  mind  decreased  not  its  channs,  by  a  supercil- 
ious self-opinion  of  them;  nor  did  he  assume  that  as*a  riglit  which  the  wishes 
of  his  friends  rendered  a  duty.  He  led  the  conversation,  for  silence  or  dimin- 
ished discourse,  in  him,  would  have  been  deservedly  deemed  vanity,  as  though 
he  had  desired  to  make  his  friends  feel  the  value  of  his  instructions  from  the 
temporary  loss  of  them.  But  in  no  instance  was  his  superiority  oppressive  ; 
calm,  attentive,  and  cheerful,  he  confuted  more  gracefully  than  others  compH- 
ment ;  the  tone  of  dogmatism  and  the  smile  of  contempt  were  equally  un- 
known to  him.  Sometimes  indeed  he  raised  himself  stronger  and  more  lofty 
in  his  eloquence,  then  chiefly,  when,  fearful  for  his  weaker  brethren,  he  op- 
posed the  arrogance  of  the  iUiterate  deist,  or  the  worse  jargon  of  sensual  and 
cold-blooded  atheism.  He  knew  that  the  clouds  of  ignorance  which  envel- 
oped their  understandings,  steamed  up  from  the  pollutions  of  their  hearts,  and 
crowding  his  sails,  he  bore  down  upon  them  with  salutary  violence. 

But  the  qualities  which  most  exalted  John  Henderson  in  the  estimation  of 


366  APPENDIX. 

nis  friends,  were  his  high  sense  of  honor,  and  the  great  benevolence  of  his 
heart;  not  that  honor  which  originates  in  a  jealous  love  of  the  world's  praise, 
nor  that  benevolence  which  delights  only  in  publicity  of  well-doing.  His 
honor  was  the  anxious  delicacy  of  a  Christian,  who  regarded  his  soul  as  a 
sacred  pledge,  that  must  sometime  be  re-delivered  to  the  Almighty  lender ;  his 
benevolence  a  circle,  in  which  self  indeed  might  be  the  centre,  but  all  that 
lives  was  the  circumference.  This  tribute  of  respect  to  thy  name  and  virtues, 
my  beloved  Henderson !  is  paid  by  one,  who  was  once  proud  to  call  thee  tutor 
and  friend,  and  who  will  do  honor  to  thy  memory,  till  his  spirit  rests  with 
thine. 

Those  who  were  unacquainted  with  John  Henderson's  character,  may 
naturally  ask,  "  What  test  has  he  left  the  world  of  the  distinguished  talents 
thus  ascribed  to  him  V  None  !  He  cherished  a  sentiment,  which,  whilst  it 
teaches  humility  to  the  proud,  explains  the  cause  of  that  silence  so  generally 
regretted.  Upon  the  writer  of  this  brief  notice  once  expressing  to  him  some 
regret  at  his  not  having  benefited  mankind  by  the  result  of  his  deep  and 
varied  investigations, — he  replied,  "  More  men  become  writers  from  igno- 
rance, than  from  knowledge,  not  knowing  that  they  have  been  anticipated  by 
others.  Let  us  decide  with  caution,  and  write  late."  Thus  the  vastness  and 
variety  of  his  acquirements,  and  the  diffidence  of  his  own  mental  maturity, 
alike  prevented  him  from  illuminating  mankind,  till  death  called  him  to  graduate 
in  a  sphere  more  favorable  to  the  range  of  his  soaring  and  comprehensive  mind. 
— He  died  on  a  visit  to  Oxford,  in  November,  1788,  in  the  32d  year  of  his  age. 

Few  will  doubt  but  that  the  possession  of  pre-eminent  colloquial  talents,  to 
a  man  like  John  Henderson,  in  whom  so  amply  dwelt  the  spirit  of  original- 
ity, must  be  considered,  on  the  whole,  as  a  misfortune,  and  as  tending  to  sub- 
tract from  the  permanency  of  his  reputation ;  he  wisely  considered  posthu- 
mous fame  as  a  vain  and  undesirable  bubble,  unless  founded  on  utility ;  but 
when  it  is  considered  that  no  man  was  better  qualified  than  himself  to  con- 
found vice  and  ennoble  virtue,  to  unravel  the  mazes  of  error,  or  vindicate  the 
pretensions  of  truth,  it  must  generally  excite  a  poignant  regret,  that  abilities  like 
his  should  have  been  dissipated  on  one  generation,  which  by  a  different  appli- 
cation, might  have  charmed  and  enlightened  futurity. 

It  is  however  by  no  means  to  be  concluded  that  he  would  not  have  written, 
and  written  extensively,  if  he  had  attained  the  ordinary  age  of  man,  but  he 
whose  sentiments  are  considered  as  oracular,  whose  company  is  incessantly 
sought  by  the  wise  and  honorable,  and  who  never  speaks  but  to  obtain  imme- 
diate applause,  often  sacrifices  the  future  to  the  present,  and  evaporates  his 
distinguished  talents  in  the  single  morning  of  life. 

But  whilst  we  ascribe  attributes  to  John  Henderson  which  designate  the 
genius  or  illustrate  the  scholar,  we  must  not  forget  another  quality  which  he 
eminently  possessed,  which  so  fundamentally  contributes  to  give  stabihty  to 
friendship,  and  to  smooth  the  current  of  social  life, — a  suavity  of  manner, 
connected  with  a  gracefulness  of  deportment,  which  distinguished  him  on  all 
occasions. 

His  participation  of  the  feelings  of  others,  resulting  from  great  native  sensi- 


APPENDIX.  367 


bility,  although  it  never  produced  in  his  conduct  undue  complacency,  yet  in- 
variably suggested  to  him  that  nice  point  of  propriety  in  behavior  which 
was  suitable  to  different  characters,  and  appropriate  to  the  various  situations 
in  which  he  might  be  placed.  Nor  was  his  sense  of  right  a  barren  percep- 
tion. What  the  soundness  oT  his  understanding  instructed  him  to  app''ove, 
tlie  benevolence  of  his  heart  taught  him  to  practise.  In  his  respectful  ap- 
proaches to  the  peer,  he  sustained  his  dignity ;  and  in  addressing  the  beggar, 
he  remembered  he  was  speaking  to  a  man. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  close  this  brief  account  of  John  Henderson,  without 
naming  two  other  excellences  with  which  he  was  eminently  endowed.  First, 
the  ascendency  he  had  acquired  over  his  temper.  There  are  moments  in 
which  most  persons  are  susceptible  of  a  transient  irritability,  but  the  oldest  of 
his  friends  never  beheld  him  otherwise  tlxan  calm  and  collected.  It  was  a 
condition  he  retained  under  all  circumstances,*  and  which,  to  those  over 
whom  he  had  any  influence,  he  never  failed  forcibly  to  inculcate,  together 
with  that  unshaken  firmness  of  mind  which  encounters  the  unavoidable  mis- 
fortunes of  life  without  repining,  and  that  from  the  noblest  principle,  a  con- 
\iction  that  they  are  regulated  by  Him  who  cannot  err,  and  who  in  his  sever- 
est allotments  designs  only  our  ultimate  good.  In  a  letter  from  Oxford,  to  my 
brother  Amos,  his  late  pupil,  for  whom  John  Henderson  always  entertained 
the  highest  esteem,  he  thus  expresses  himself:  "  See  tliat  you  govern  your 
passions.  What  should  grieve  us  but  our  infirmities '?  What  make  us  angry 
but  our  own  faults  1  A  man  who  knows  he  is  mortal,  and  tluit  all  the  world 
will  pass  away,  and  by-and-by  seem  only  like  a  tale — a  sinner  who  knows 
his  sufferings  are  all  less  than  his  sins,  and  designed  to  break  him  from  them — 
one  who  knows  that  everything  in  this  v/orld  is  a  seed  that  will  have  its  fruit 
in  eternity— that  GOD  is  the  best,  the  only  good  friend — that  in  Him  is  all 
we  want — that  everything  is  ordered  for  the  best — so  that  it  could  not  be 
better,  however  we  take  it ;  he  who  believes  this  in  his  heart  is  happy.  Such 
be  you — may  you  always  fare  well,  my  dear  Amos, — be  the  friend  of  GOD  ! 
again  farewell." 

The  other  excellence  referred  to,  was  the  simplicity  and  condescension  of 
his  manners.  From  the  gigantic  stature  of  his  understanding,  he  v/as  pre- 
pared to  trample  down  his  pigmy  competitors,  and  qualified  at  all  times  to 
enforce  his  unquestioned  pre-eminence ;  but  his  mind  was  conciliating,  his 
behavior  unassuming,  and  his  bosom  the  receptacle  of  all  the  social  affec- 
tions. 

*  As  a  proof  of  his  self-conmiand,  the  following  incident  may  be  adduced.  During  his 
"esidence  at  Oxford,  a  student  of  a  neighboring  college,  proud  of  his  logical  acquirements, 
was  solicitous  of  a  private  disputation  with  the  renowned  Henderson.  Some  mutual 
friends  introduced  him,  and  having  chosen  his  subject,  they  conversed  for  some  time  with 
equal  candor  and  moderation  ;  but  at  length  Henderson's  antagonist,  perceiving  his  con- 
futation inevitable,  in  the  height  of  passion,  threw  a  full  glass  of  wine  in  John  Hender- 
son's face.  J.  H.,  without  altering  his  features  or  changing  his  position,  gently  wiped  his 
face,  and  then  coolly  replied,  "This,  sir,  is  a  digression;  now  for  the  argument."  It  is 
hardly  necess§iry  to  add,  the  insult  was  resented  by  the  company  turning  the  aggressor  out 
of  the  room. 


368  APPENDIX. 


It  is  these  virtues  ulone  which  can  disarm  superiority  of  its  terrors,  and 
make  the  eye  which  is  raised  in  wonder,  beam  at  the  same  moment  with  affec- 
tion. There  have  been  intellectual,  as  well  as  civil  despots,  whose  motto 
seems  to  have  been,  "  Let  them  hate  provided^  they  fear."  Such  men  may 
triumph  in  their  fancied  distinctions ;  but  they  will  never,  as  was  John  Hen- 
derson, be  followed  by  the  child,  loved  by  the  ignorant,  and  yet  emulated  by 
the  wise. 


ROWLEY  AND  CHATTERTON. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  extended  view  of  the  question  between 
Rowley  and  Chatterton,  which  appeared  in  my  "  Malvern  Hills,"  &c  (Vol. 
I.  p.  273.) 

*  *  *  -^  *  *  * 

*  *  "  Whoever  examines  the  conduct  of  Chatterton,  will  find 
that  he  was  pre-eminently  influenced  by  one  particular  disposition  of  mind, 
which  was,  through  an  excess  of  ingenuity,  to  impose  on  the  credulity  of 
others.  This  predominant  quality  elucidates  his  character,  and  is  deserving 
of  minute  regard  by  all  who  wish  to  form  a  correct  estimate  of  the  Rowleian 
controversy.     A  few  instances  of  it  are  here  recapitulated. 

1st.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Catcott  once  noticed  to  Chatterton  the  inclined  position 
of  Temple  church,  in  the  city  of  Bristol.  A  few  days  after,  the  blue-coat  boy 
brought  him  an  old  poem,  transcribed,  as  he  declared,  from  Rowley,  who  had 
noticed  the  same  peculiarity  in  his  day,  and  had  moreover  written  a  few  stan- 
zas on  the  very  subject. 

2ndly.  A  new  bridge  is  just  completed  over  the  river  Avon,  at  Bristol,  when 
Chatterton  sends  to  the  printer  a  genuine  description,  in  antiquated  language, 
of  the  passing  over  the  old  bridge,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
on  which  occasion  two  songs  are  chanted,  by  two  saints,  of  whom  nothing 
was  known,  and  expressed  in  language  precisely  the  same  as  Rowley's, 
though  he  lived  two  hundred  years  after  this  event. 

3rdly.  Mr.  Burgham,  the  pewterer,  is  credulous,  and  from  some  whimsical 
caprice  in  his  nature,  is  attached  to  heraldic  honors.  Chatterton,  who  ap- 
proaches every  man  on  his  blind  side,  presents  him  with  his  pedigree,  consecu- 
tively traced  from  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror,  and  coolly  allies  him  to 
some  of  the  noblest  houses  in  the  kingdom ! 

4thly.  Mr.  Burgham,  with  little  less  than  intuitive  discernment,  is  one  of  the 
first  persons  who  expresses  a  firm  opinion  of  the  authenticity  and  excellence 
of  Rowley's  Poems.     Chatterton,  pleased  with  this  first  blossom  of  success, 


APPENDIX.  369 


and  from  which  he  presaged  an  abundant  harvest,  with  an  elated  and  grate- 
ful heart,  presents  him  (together  with  other  testimonials)  with  the  '  Romaunte 
of  the  Cnyghte,'  a  poem  written  by  John  De  Burgham,  one  of  his  own  illus- 
trious ancestors,  who  was  the  great  ornament  of  a  period,  four  hundred  and 
fifty  years  antecedent ;  and  the  more  effectually  to  exclude  suspicion,  he  ac- 
companies it  with  the  same  poem,  modernized  by  himself! 

5thly.  Chatterton  wishes  to  obtain  the  good  opinion  of  his  relation,  Mr. 
Stephens,  leather-breeches  maker  of  Salisbury,  and,  from  some  quality,  which 
it  is  possible  his  keen  observation  had  noticed  in  this  Mr.  Stephens,  he  deems 
it  the  most  effectual  way,  to  flatter  his  vanity,  and  accordingly  tells  him,  with 
great  gravity,  that  he  traces  his  descent  from  Fitz- Stephen,  son  of  Stephen, 
Earl  of  Ammerle,  who  was  son  of  Od,  Earl  of  Bloys,  and  Lord  of  Holderness, 
who  flourished  about  A.D.  1095  ! 

6thly.  The  late  Mr.  George  Catcott,  (to  whom  the  public  are  so  much  in- 
debted for  the  preservation  of  Rowley)  is  a  very  worthy  and  reUgious  man, 
when  Chattertoii,  who  has  implements  for  all  work,  and  commodities  for  all 
customers,  like  a  skilful  engineer,  adapts  the  style  of  his  attack  to  the  nature 
of  the  fortress,  and  presents  him  with  the  fragment  of  a  sermon,  on  the  divin- 
ity of  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  '  wroten  by  Thomas  Rowley.' 

7thly.  Mr.  Barrett  is  zealous  to  estabhsh  the  antiquity  of  Bristol.  As  a 
demonstrable  evidence,  Chatterton  presents  him  with  an  escutcheon  (on  the 
authority  of  the  same  Thomas  Rowley)  borne  by  a  Saxon,  of  the  name  of 
Ailward,  who  resided  in  Bristow,  A.D.  718. 

8thly.  Mr.  Barrett  is  also  writing  a  comprehensive  History  of  Bristol,  and 
is  solicitous  to  obtain  every  scrap  of  information  relating  to  so  important  a 
subject.  In  the  ear  of  Chatterton  he  expressed  his  anxiety,  and  suggested  to 
him  the  propriety  of  his  examining  all  Rowley's  multifarious  manuscripts 
with  great  care  for  an  object  of  such  weight. 

Soon  after  this,  the  blue-coat  boy  came  breathless  to  Mr.  Barrett,  uttering, 
like  one  of  old, '  I  have  found  it !'  He  now  presented  the  historian  with  two  or 
three  notices,  (in  his  oion  hand-writings  copied,  as  he  declared^  faithfully  from 
the  originals,)  of  some  of  the  ancient  Bristol  churches ;  of  course,  wholly  above 
suspicion,  for  they  were  in  the  true  old  English  style.  These  communications 
were  regarded  as  of  inestimable  value,  and  the  lucky  finder  promised  to  in- 
crease his  vigilance,  in  ransacking  the  whole  mass  of  antique  documents  for 
fresh  disclosures.  It  was  not  long  before  other  important  scraps  were  dis- 
covered, conveying  just  the  kind  of  information  which  Mr.  Barrett  wanted, 
till,  ultimately,  Chatterton  furnished  him  with  many  curious  particulars  con- 
cerning the  castle,  and  every  church  and  chapel  in  the  city  of  Bristol !  and 
these  are  some  of  the  choicest  materials  of  Mr.  Barrett's  otherwise  valuable 
history ! 

9thly.  Public  curiosity  and  general  admiration  are  excited  by  poems,  af- 
firmed to  be  from  the  Erse  of  Ossian.  Chatterton,  with  characteristic  prompti- 
tude, instantly  pubhshes,  not  imitations,  but  a  succession  of  genuine  transla- 
tions from  the  Saxon  and  Welsh,  with  precisely  the  same  language  and  im- 
agery, though  the  Saxon  and  Welsh  were  derived  from  different  origins,  the 

16^ 


370  APPENDIX. 


Teutonic  and  Celtic,  (which  Bishop  Percy  has  most  satisfactorily  shown  in 
his  able  and  elaborate  preface  to  '  Mallet's  Northern  Antiquities,')  and  whose 
poetry,  of  all  their  writings,  was  the  most  dissimilar ;  as  will  instantly  appear 
to  all  who  compare  Taliessin,  and  the  other  Welsh  bards,  with  the  Scandina- 
vian Edda  of  Saemond. 

lOthly.  Mr.  Walpole  is  writing  the  history  of  British  painters;  Chatterton, 
(who,  to  a  confidential  friend,  had  expressed  an  opinion  that  it  was  possible, 
by  dexterous  management,  to  deceive  even  this  master  in  antiquities,)  with 
full  confidence  of  success,  transmits  to  him  '  An  Account  of  eminent  Carvel- 
lers  and  Peyncters  who  flourished  in  Bristol,  and  other  parts  of  England,  three 
hundred  years  ago,  collected  for  Master  Canynge,  by  Thomas  Rowley !' 

Chatterton's  communication  furnishes  an  amusing  specimen  of  the  quaint 
language  with  which  this  beardless  boy  deceived  the  old  antiquarian.  It  com- 
mences thus : 

'  Peyncteynge  ynn  Englande,  haveth  of  ould  time  bin  in  use ;  for  sayeth 
the  Roman  wryters,  the  Brytonnes  dyd  depycte  themselves  yn  soundry  wyse, 
of  the  fourmes  of  the  sonne  and  moone,  wythe  the  hearbe  woade  :  ajbeytte  I 
doubt  theie  were  no  skylled  carvellers,'  &c.,  &c. 

Mr.  Walpole  was  so  completely  imposed  upon,  that,  in  his  reply,  without 
entertaining  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  authenticity  of  the  document,  he 
reasons  upon  it  as  valid,  and  says,  '  You  do  not  point  out  the  exact  time  when 
Rowley  lived,  which  I  wish  to  know,  as  I  suppose  it  was  long  before  John  al 
Ectry's  discovery  of  oil  painting  ;  if  so,  it  confirms  what  I  have  guessed,  and 
have  hinted  in  my  anecdotes,  that  oil  painting  was  known  here  much  earlier 
than  that  discovery,  or  revival.' 

Another  important  argument,  may  be  adduced  from  the  following  reflection  : 
all  the  poets  who  thus  owe  their  existence  to  Chatterton,  write  in  the  same 
harmonious  style,  and  display  the  same  tact  and  superiority  of  genius.  Other 
poets  living  in  the  same,  or  different  ages,  exhibit  a  wide  diversity  in  judg- 
ment, fancy,  and  the  higher  creative  faculty  of  imagination,  so  that  a  discrim- 
inating mind  can  distinguish  an  individual  character  in  almost  every  separate 
writer  ;  but  here  are  persons  living  in  diff'erent  ages  ;  moving  in  different  sta- 
tions ;  exposed  to  diff*erent  circumstances  ;  and  expressing  diff"erent  senti' 
ments ;  yet  all  of  whom  betray  the  same  peculiar  habits,  with  the  same  talents 
and  facihties  of  composition.     This  is  evident,  whether  it  be — 


The  Abbatte  John,  living  in  the  year 

1186 

Seyncte  Baldwin      -           -           -            , 

1247 

Seyncte  Warbiirgie 

1247 

John  de  Burgham    -           -           -           . 

1320 

The  Ravvfe  Cheddar  Chappmanne 

1356 

Syr  Thybbot  Gorges 

1440 

Syr  Wm.  Canynge    -            -           - 

1469 

Thomas  Rowley 

1479 

Carpenter,  Bishoppe  of  Worcester 

Ecca,  Bishoppe  of  Hereforde 

Elmar,  Bishoppe  of  Selseie 

John  Ladgate,  or 

Mayster  John  a  Iscam. 

APPENDIX  371 


And  the  whole  of  these  poets,  with  the  exception  of  Ladgate,  completely  un- 
known to  the  world,  till  called  from  their  dormitory  by  Chatterton  !  Such  a 
fact  would  be  a  phenomenon  unspeakably  more  inexplicable  than  that  of 
ascribing  Rowley  to  a  youth  of  less  than  sixteen,  who  had  made  '  Antique 
Lore'  his  peculiar  study,  and  who  was  endued  with  precocious,  and  almost 
unlimited  genius. 

Those  who  are  aware  of  the  transitions,  and  fluctuation,  which  our  lan- 
guage experienced  in  the  intermediate  space  comprised  between  Chaucer  and 
Sir  Thomas  More  ;  and  still  greater  between  Robert  of  Gloucester,  1278,  and 
John  Trevisa,  or  his  contemporary  Wickliffe,  who  died  1384,  know,  to  a  cer- 
tainty, that  the  writers  enumerated  by  Chatterton,  without  surmounting  a 
physical  impossibility,  could  not  have  written  in  the  same  undeviating  style. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  affirmed  that  numerous  old  parchments  were  obtained 
from  the  Muniment  Room  or  elsewhere.  This  fact  is  undeniable ;  but  they 
are  understood  to  consist  of  ancient  ecclesiastical  deeds,  as  unconnected  with 
poetry,  as  they  were  with  galvanism. 

Let  the  dispassionate  inquirer  ask  himself,  whether  he  thinks  it  possible  for 
men,  living  in  distant  ages,  when  our  language  was  unformed,  and  therefore 
its  variations  the  greater,  to  write  in  the  same  style  1  Whether  it  was  possi- 
ble for  the  Abbatte  John,  composing  in  the  year  1188,  when  the  amalgama- 
tion of  the  Saxon  and  the  Norman  formed  an  almost  inexplicable  jargon,  to 
write  in  a  manner,  as  to  its  construction,  intimately  resembhng  that  now  in 
vogue  ?  On  the  contrary,  how  easy  is  the  solution,  when  we  admit  that  the 
person  who  wrote  the  first  part  of  the  "  Battle  of  Hastings,"  and  the  death 
of  "  Syr  Charles  Bawdin,"  wrote  also  the  rest. 

Does  it  not  appear  marvellous,  that  the  learned  advocates  of  Rowley  should 
not  have  regarded  the  ground  on  which  they  stood  as  somewhat  unstable, 
when  they  found  Chatterton  readily  avow  that  he  wrote  the  first  part  of  the 
"  Battle  of  Hastings,"  and  discovered  the  second,  as  composed  three  hundred 
years  before  by  Thomas  Rowley  1  This  was  indeed  an  unparalleled  coinci- 
dence. A  boy  writes  the  commencement  of  a  narrative  poem,  and  then  finds 
in  the  Muniment  Room,  the  second  part  or  a  continuation,  by  an  old  secular 
priest,  with  the  same  characters,  written  in  the  same  style,  and  even  in  the 
same  metre  ! 

Another  extraordinary  feature  in  the  question,  is  the  following :  there  are 
preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  numerous  deeds  and  proclamations,  by 
Thomas  Rowley,  in  Chatterton's  writing,  relating  to  the  antiquities  of  Bristol, 
all  in  modern  EngHsh,  designed  no  doubt,  by  the  young  bard,  for  his  friend 
Mr.  Barrett ;  but  the  chrysalis  had  not  yet  advanced  to  its  winged  state. 

One  of  the  proclamations  begins  thus : 

"  To  all  christian  people  to  whom  this  indented  writing  shall  come,  William 
Canynge,  of  Bristol,  merchant,  and  Thomas  Rowley,  priest,  send  greeting : 
Whereas  certain  disputes  have  arisen  between,"  (fee,  &c. 

Who  does  not  perceive  that  these  were  the  first  rough  sketches  of  genuine 
old  documents  that  were  to  be? 

In  an  account  of  "  St.  Marie  Magdalene's  Chappele,  by  Thomas  Rowley," 


372  APPENDIX. 


deposited  also  in  the  British  Museum,  there  is  the  following  sentence,  which 
imphes  much  :  "^Ue,  the  founder  thereof,  was  a  manne  myckle  stronge  yn 
vanquysheynge  the  Danes,  as  yce  maie  see  ynne  mie  unwordie  Entrylude  of 
Ella!" 

It  is  Rome  or  Carthage.  It  is  Rowley  or  Chatterton  :  and  a  hope  is  cher- 
ished, that  the  public,  from  this  moment,  will  concur  in  averring  that  there  is 
neither  internal  nor  external  evidence,  to  authorize  the  belief  that  a  single 
line  of  either  the  prose  or  the  verse,  attributed  to  Rowley,  or  the  rest  of  his 
apochryphal  characters,  was  written  by  any  other  than  that  prodigy  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  Thomas  Chatterton. 

The  opinion  entertained  by  many,  that  Chatterton  found  part  of  Rowley, 
and  invented  the  rest,  is  attended  with  insurmountable  objections,  and  is  never 
advanced  but  in  the  deficiency  of  better  argument ;  for  in  the  first  place,  those 
who  favor  this  supposition,  have  never  supported  it  by  the  shadow  of  proof,  or 
the  semblance  even  of  fair  inferential  reasoning  ;  and  in  the  second  place,  he 
who  wrote  half,  could  have  written  the  whole  ;  and  in  the  third,  and  principal 
place,  there  are  no  inequalities  in  the  poems :  no  dissimilar  and  incongruous 
parts,  but  all  is  regular  and  consistent,  and  without,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the 
word,  bearing  any  resemblance  to  the  writers  of  the  period  when  Rowley  is 
stated  to  have  lived. 

Whoever  examines  the  beautiful  tragedy  of  Ella,  will  find  an  accurate 
adjustment  of  plan  which  precludes  the  possibility  of  its  having  been  con- 
jointly written  by  different  persons,  at  the  distance  of  centuries.  With  res- 
pect, also,  to  the  structure  of  the  language,  it  is  incontrovertibly  modern,  as 
well  as  uniform  with  itself,  and  exhibits  the  most  perfect  specimens  of  har- 
mony ;  which  cannot  be  interrupted  by  slight  orthographical  redundancies, 
nor  by  the  sprinkling  of  a  few  uncouth  and  antiquated  words. 

The  structure  of  Rowley's  verse  is  so  unequivocally  modern,  that  by  substi- 
tuting the  present  orthography  for  the  past,  and  changing  two  or  three  of  the 
old  words,  the  fact  must  become  obvious  even  to  those  who  are  wholly  unac- 
quainted with  the  barbarisms  of  the  "  olden  time."  As  a  corroboration  of  this 
remark,  the  first  verse  of  the  song  to  ^Ella  may  be  adduced. 

"  O  thou,  or  what  remains  of  thee, 
JEWii,  thou  darling  of  futurity, 
Let  this,  my  song,  bold  as  thy  courage  be, 
As  everlasting — to  posterity." 

But,  perhaps,  the  most  convincing  proof  of  this  modern  character  of  Rowley's 
verse,  may  be  derived  from  the  commencement  of  the  chorus  in  Godwin. 

"  When  Freedom,  dress'd  in  blood-stain'd  vest, 
To  every  knight  her  war-song  sung. 
Upon  her  head  wild  weeds  were  spread, 
A  gory  anlace  by  her  hung. 
She  danced  on  the  heath  ; 
She  heard  the  voice  of  death. 

Pale-eyed  Affright,  his  heart  of  silver  hue, 
In  vain  essay'd  his  bosom  to  acale,  [freeze] 


APFExNDIX.  373 


She  heard,  enflamed,  the  shivering  voice  of  woe, 
And  sadness  in  the  owlet  shake  the  dale. 
She  shook  the  pointed  spear ; 

On  high  she  raised  her  shield ; 
Her  foeiflen  all  appear, 
And  fly  along  the  field. 
Power,  with  his  head  exalted  to  the  skle:?, 

His  spear  a  sun-beam,  and  his  shield  a  star, 
Round,  like  two  flaming  meteors,  roils  his  eyes. 
Stamps  with  his  iron  foot,  and  sounds  to  war: 
She  sits  upon  a  rock. 

She  bends  before  his  spear  ; 
She  rises  from  the  shock, 
Wielding  her  own  in  air. 
Hard  as  the  thunder  doth  she  drive  it  on. 

And,  closely  mantled,  guides  it  to  his  crown, 
His  long  sharp  spear,  his  spreading  shield,  is  gone  : 
He  falls,  and  falling,  roUeth  thousands  down." 

Every  reader  must  be  struck  with  the  modern  character  of  these  extracts, 
nor  can  he  fail  to  have  noticed  the  lyrical  measure,  so  eminently  felicitous, 
with  which  the  preceding  ode  commences ;  together  with  the  bold  image  of 
freedom  triumphing  over  power.  If  the  merits  of  the  Rowleian  Controversy 
rested  solely  on  this  one  piece,  it  would  be  decisive  ;  for  no  man,  in  the  least 
degree  familiar  with  our  earlier  metrical  compositions,  and  especially  if  he 
were  a  poet,  could  hesitate  a  moment  in  assigning  this  chorus  to  a  recent 
period. 

It  is  impossible  not  to  believe  that  the  whole  of  Rowley  was  written  at  first 
in  modern  English,  and  then  the  orthographical  metamorphose  commenced  ; 
and  to  one  who  had  prepared  himself,  like  Chatterton,  with  a  dictionary,  al- 
ternately modern  and  old,  and  old  and  modern,  the  task  of  transformation  was 
not  difficult,  even  to  an  ordinary  mind.  It  should  be  remembered  also,  that 
Chatterton  furnished  a  complete  glossary  to  the  whole  of  Rowley.  Had  he 
assumed  ignorance,  it  might  have  checked,  without  removing  suspicion,  but 
at  present  it  appears  inexplicable,  that  our  sage  predecessors  should  not  have 
been  convinced  that  one  who  could  write,  in  his  own  person,  \#th  such  supe- 
riority as  Chatterton  indisputably  did,  would  be  quite  competent  to  give  words 
to  another,  the  meaning  of  which  he  so  well  understood  himself 

But  the  thought  will  naturally  arise,  what  could  have  prompted  Chatterton, 
endued  as  he  was,  with  so  much  original  talent,  to  renounce  his  own  personal 
aggrandizement,  and  to  transfer  the  credit  of  his  opulence  to  another.  It  is 
admitted  to  be  an  improvident  expenditure  of  reputation,  but  no  inference  ad- 
vantageous to  Rowley  can  be  deduced  from  this  circumstance.  The  eccen- 
tricities and  aberrations  of  genius,  have  rarely  been  restricted  by  hne  and 
plummet,  and  the  present  is  a  memorable  example  of  perverted  talent ;  but  all 
this  may  be  conceded,  without  shaking  the  argument  here  contended  for. 

There  is  a  process  in  all  our  pursuits,  and  the  nice  inspector  of  associations 
can  almost  uniformly  trace  his  predilections  to  some  definite  cause.  This, 
doubtless,  was  the  case  with  Chatterton.     He  found  old  parchments  early  in 


374  APPENDIX. 


life.  In  the  first  instance,  it  became  an  object  of  ambition  to  decipher  the  ob- 
scure. One  difficulty  surmounted,  strengthened  the  capacity  for  conquering 
others ;  perseverance  gave  faciUty,  till  at  length  his  vigorous  attention  was  ef- 
fectually directed  to  what  he  called  "  antique  Idfc :"  and  this  confirmed  bias 
of  his  mind,  connected  as  it  was,  with  his  inveterate  proneness  to  impose  on 
others,  and  supported  by  talents  which  have  scarcely  been  equalled,  reduces 
the  magnified  wonder  of  Rowley,  to  a  plain,  comprehensible  question. 

Dean  Milles,  in  his  admiration  of  Rowley,  appeared  to  derive  pleasure  from 
depreciating  Chatterton,  who  had  avowed  himself  the  writer  of  that  inimi- 
table poem,  "  The  Death  of  Syr  Charles  Bawdin,"  but  well  knowing  the  con- 
sequences which  would  follow  on  this  admission,  he  labored  hard  to  impeach 
the  veracity  of  our  bard,  and  represented  him  as  one  who,  from  vanity,  as- 
sumed to  himself  the  writing  of  another  !  Dean  Milles  affirms,  that  of  this 
"  Death  of  Syr  Charles  Bawdin,"  "  A  greater  variety  of  internal  proofs  may 
be  produced,  for  its  authenticity,  than  for  that  of  any  other  piece  in  the  whole 
collection  !"  This  virtually,  was  abandoning  the  question  ;  for  since  we  know 
that  Chatterton  did  write  "  The  Death  of  Syr  Charles  Bawdin,"  we  know 
that  he  wrote  that  which  had  stronger  proofs  of  the  authenticity  of  Rowley 
than  all  the  other  pieces  in  the  collection ! 

The  numerous  proofs  adduced  of  Chatterton's  passion  for  fictitious  state- 
ments ;  of  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  antiquated  language  ;  of  the  almost 
preternatural  maturity  of  his  mind  ;  of  the  dissimilitude  of  Rowley's  language 
to  contemporaneous  writers  ;  and  of  tlie  obviously  modern  structure  of  all  the 
compositions  which  the  young  bard  produced,  as  the  writings  of  Rowley  and 
others,  form,  it  is  presumed,  a  mass  of  Anti-Rowleian  evidence,  which  proves 
that  Chatterton  possessed  that  peculiar  disposition,  as  well  as  those  pre-emi- 
nent talents,  the  union  of  which  was  both  necessary  and  equal  to  the  great 
production  of  Rowley.         *         *         * 

J.  C. 


THE   WEARY   PILGRIM. 

Weary  Pilgrim,  dry  thy  tear, 

Look  beyond  these  realms  of  night : 

Mourn  not,  with  redemption  near, 
Faint  not,  with  the  goal  in  sight. 

Grief  and  pain  are  needful  things. 

Sent  to  chasten,  not  to  slay ; 
And  if  pleasures  have  their  wings, 

Sorrows  quickly  pass  away. 


APPENDIX.  375 


Where  are  childhood's  sighs  and  throes  1 
Where  are  youth's  tumultuous  fears  ] 

Where  are  manhood's  thousand  woes  7 
Lost  amidst  the  lapse  of  years ! 

There  are  treasures  which  to  gain, 
Might  a  seraph's  heart  inspire  ; 

There  are  joys  which  will  remain 
When  the  world  is  wrapt  in  fire, 

Hope,  with  her  expiring  beam, 
May  illume  our  last  delight ; 

But  our  trouble  soon  will  seem 
Like  the  Adsions  of  the  night. 

We  too  oft  remit  our  pace. 

And  at  ease  in  slumbers  dwell ; 

We  are  loiterers  in  our  race, 
And  afflictions  break  the  spell. 

Woe  to  him,  whoe'er  he  be. 
Should  (severest  test  below  !) 

All  around  him  like  a  sea, 

Health,  and  wealth,  and  honors,  flow  ! 

When  unclouded  suns  we  hail. 
And  our  cedars  proudly  wave. 

We  forget  their  tenure  frail. 

With  the  bounteous  hand  that  gave. 

We  on  dangerous  paths  are  bound, 
Call'd  to  battle  and  to  bleed ; 

We  have  hostile  spirits  round, 
And  the  warrior's  armor  need. 

We,  within,  have  deadlier  foes. 
Wills  rebellious,  hearts  impure ; 

God,  the  best  physician,  knows 
What  the  malady  will  cure. 

Earth  is  lovely  !  dress'd  in  flowers ! 

O'er  her  form  luxuriant  thrown. 
But  a  loveher  world  is  ours. 

Visible  to  faith  alone. 

Here  the  balm  and  spicy  gales, 

For  a  moment,  fill  the  air ; 
Here  the  mutable  prevails. 

Permanence  alone  is  there. 


b76  APPENDIX. 


Heaven  to  gain  is  worth  our  toil ! 

Angels  call  us  to  their  sphere ; 
But  to  time's  ignoble  soil 

We  are  bound,  and  will  not  hear. 

Heaven  attracts  not !  On  we  dream  j 
Cast  like  wrecks  upon  the  shore 

Where  perfectidn  reigns  supreme, 
And  adieus  are  heard  no  more. 

What  is  life  '?  a  tale  !  a  span  ! 

Swifter  than  the  eagle's  flight; 
What  the  boasted  age  of  man  '? 

Vanishing  beneath  the  sight. 

Yet,  our  ardors  and  desires 

Centred,  circumscribed  by  earth  ; 

Whilst  eternity  retires — 

As  an  object  nothing  worth ! 

Oh,  the  folly  of  the  proud  ! 

Oh,  the  madness  of  the  vain  ! 
After  every  toy  to  crowd. 

And  unwithering  crowns  disdain  ! 

Mighty  men  in  grand  array. 

Magnates  of  the  ages  past, 
Kings  and  conquerors,  where  are  they  1 

Once  whose  frown  a  world  o'ercast  1 

Faded  !  yet  by  fame  enroll' d, 

With  their  busts  entwined  with  bays  j 
But  if  God  his  smile  withhold, 

Pitiful  is  human  praise. 

With  what  sadness  and  surprise. 
Must  Immortals  view  our  lot ; — 

Eager  for  the  flower  that  dies. 
And  the  Amaranth  heeding  not. 

May  we  from  our  dreams  awake, 
Love  the  truth,  the  truth  obey ; 

On  our  night  let  morning  break — 
Prelude  of  a  nobler  day. 

Harmony  prevails  above. 

Where  all  hearts  together  blend  j 
Let  the  concords  sweet  of  love. 

Now  begin  and  never  end. 


APPENDIX.  377 


Have  we  not  one  common  sire  7 
Have  we  not  one  home  in  sight  1 

Let  the  sons  of  peace  conspire, 
Not  to  sever,  but  unite. 

Hence,  forgetful  of  the  past, 

May  we  all  as  brethren  own, 
Whom  we  hope  to  meet  at  last — 

Round  the  everlasting  throne. 

Father  !  source  of  blessedness. 
In  thy  strength  triumphant  ride  ; 

Let  the  world  thy  Son  confess. 
And  thy  name  be  magnified  ! 

Let  thy  word  of  truth  prevail. 
Scattering  darkness,  errors,  lies ; 

Let  all  lands  the  treasure  hail — 
Link  that  binds  us  to  the  skies. 

Let  thy  spirit,  rich  and  free, 

Copious  shed  his  power  divine, 
Till  (Creation's  Jubilee !) 

All  earth's  jarring  realms  are  thine  1 

Saints  who  once  on  earth  endured — 
Beating  storm  and  thorny  way. 

Have  the  prize  they  sought  secured, 
And  have  enter'd  perfect  day. 

Wiser  taught, — with  vision  clear, 

(Kindled  from  the  light  above) 
Now  their  bitterest  foes  appear — 

Charged  with  blessings,  fraught  with  love  :• 

For,  as  earthly  scenes  withdrew. 
In  their  false,  but  flattering  guise, 

They,  rejoicing,  fix'd  their  view — 
On  the  mansions  in  the  skies. 

Art  thou  fearful  of  the  end  1 

Dread  not  Jordan's  swelling  tide ; 

With  the  Saviour  for  thy  friend! 
With  the  Spirit  for  thy  guide  ! 

Why  these  half-subdued  alarms— 

At  the  prospect  of  thy  flight  1 
Has  thy  Father's  house  no  charms  ?  — 

There  to  join  the  Saints  in  Light  1 


.i78  APPENDIX. 


Terrors  banish  from  thy  breast, 
Hope  must  solace,  faith  sustain ; 

Thou  art  journeying  on  to  rest, 
And  with  God  shalt  hve  and  reign. 

Then  fruition,  like  the  morn. 

Will  unlock  her  boundless  store ;  — 
Roses  bloom  without  a  thorn, 
And  the  day-star  set  no  more. 

But,  an  ocean  lies  between — 
Stormy,  to  be  crossed  alone ; 

With  no  ray  to  intervene — 

O'er  the  cold  and  dark  unknown  ! 

Lo !  a  soft  and  soothing  voice 

Steals  like  music  on  my  ears ; — 
"  Let  the  drooping  heart  rejoice; 
See  !  a  glorious  dawn  appears!  " 
• 
"When  thy  parting  hours  draw  near, 

And  thou  trembling  view'st  the  last ; 
Christ  and  only  Christ  can  cheer, 
And  o'er  death  a  radiance  cast !" 

Weary  Pilgrim,  dry  thy  tear, 

Look  beyond  these  shades  of  night ; 
Mourn  not  with  Redemption  near, 

Faint  not  with  the  goal  in  sight. 


J.  C. 


Bristol  Marcn,  9,  1846. 


